


Supertheory of Supereverything

by ThePenultimateAvenger



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alcohol, Break Up, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenultimateAvenger/pseuds/ThePenultimateAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt's never been good with break ups, anyway.</p><p>or, in which Newt Makes some questionable decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See With Your Eyes, Perceive With Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:  
> Newt's just moping and this will in no way be Hermann hate because Hermann is a cutie and I love him 
> 
> I adopted the headcanon that the bald woman in Hannibal's gang is called "Queenie" from someone on tumblr uwu
> 
> Title is taken from the Gogol Bordello song of the same name.

Newt kicked a puddle, dark with oil and god knows what else, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he walked with his head down. No matter what he tried to think of, his mind kept replaying the afternoon's events and his heart lurched painfully for what seemed to be the billionth time that night. He didn't know what time it was because his phone had died, but it was late and he was beginning to wish he'd grabbed a jacket. At least it was an end to Hermann's incessant phone calls which had all been ignored anyway.

Like the guy had any right to be concerned, Newt thought sourly.

Hermann had broken up with him.

He was still trying to wrap his head around it, but every time he thought about the way Hermann had said “Newton, I can't keep seeing you...” his stomach would drop and there was nothing he wanted to do except curl up into a ball and disappear. He felt like his heart had been forcefully ripped out of his chest and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle the fact that Hermann had looked so goddamned apologetic and he couldn't handle the fact that he'd managed to fuck up the only good relationship he'd ever had. He wasn't good enough.

And so he had panicked and fled.

He let out a miserable groan, looking up from his feet finally as he came to a halt. He was heartbroken, angry, and lost somewhere in the bowels of Hong Kong. And even if he wasn't helplessly lost, the last place he wanted to be was the Shatterdome because he knew that Hermann would want to _talk,_ which was the opposite of what Newt wanted. He would have rather set fire to all of the research he'd ever done, and yeah, that included all of his beloved kaiju pieces.

Well, except the brain fragment, dead as it may have been. He'd been through too much with the little brain dude to let anything happen to it.

In any case, Newt was less than thrilled at the thought of slinking back to the Shatterdome and facing reality head-on. Reality hurt, and wallowing in self pity was far preferable.

At the end of the street he could faintly see a bar illuminated by the nearby shopfronts and silently thanked whatever god there was for it. The street was mostly empty, and some small part of Newt's brain acknowledged the fact that he had probably unwittingly led himself into one of the seedier parts of town, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck. The bar itself wasn't even the worst one he'd ever found himself in, despite the fact that a couple in one of the shadowed corner booths were blatantly passing a pipe back and forth.

Whatever. The world had almost ended, the legalization/criminalization of marijuana was the least of anyone's concerns.

Newt climbed onto one of the bar stools, taking his glasses off so he could rub at his eyes. “What'll it be?” the bartender asked.

“Something strong.” Newt said, grateful that the guy at least had the sense not to try any small talk. He had never been good at small talk, anyway, but he felt even less like being sociable when he was in such a state of misery. In almost no time, the bartender slid him a glass of something that he couldn't identify, but that burned nicely on the way down so he figured it was strong enough to do the job. It didn't taste great, but he downed the glass without even realizing it, trying to smile when the bartender was back with another.

He was half way through the second glass when the couple at the corner table whistled to get his attention, and he glanced behind him to see the woman motioning him over. Newt left a few bills on the counter before taking himself and his drink over to the booth.

“Come, sit.” The man said, and Newt briefly remembered his mother telling him about stranger danger before sliding into the booth beside him.

“What is bothering you?” The woman asked, holding the pipe and lighter out to him.

Newt stared for a moment but took the proffered pipe, letting out a sigh before taking it. “My, uh, boyfriend broke up with me.” he muttered. He held the pipe to his lips, lighting the bowl and bracing himself for the feeling of smoke hitting his lungs. He hadn't smoked in years but the sting was the same as he remembered, letting a puff of smoke out with a cough. He passed it over to the man before taking another swig of his drink to prevent the coughing fit he was sure to have.

“Then maybe he wasn't right for you.” The woman said with a sympathetic smile, reaching over the table to place a well-manicured hand on Newt's wrist. With her other hand, she motioned between herself and the man, “We dated at one point, but it wasn't the way things were meant to be. Now, we're happy being friends.”

Friends who sit around in seedy bars offering drugs and advice to strangers, Newt thought, but he wasn't complaining. “It's just...I thought what he and I had was really special and that we...you know, had a connection. Or something.” he said, intentionally skipping over the fact that he and Hermann _had_ connected in the Drift.

“Connections don't always have to be romantic.” the man said, handing the pipe over to the woman. “Friendship is just as important.”

“How long had you two been together?” The woman asked, and as she took a hit Newt couldn't help but feel that he knew her from somewhere. Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking, because he didn't actually know that many people, and she seemed like the kind of person who would have made an impression had they spoken before. To say he didn't get out much was a bit of an understatement.

“Two and a half months.” he says sullenly. Two and a half moths since the closing of the Breach. Two and a half months since he and Hermann had awkwardly confessed their feelings to each other. It had been a nice two months, at least. But Newt still felt kind of embarrassed to admit that he was so torn up over a relationship that hadn't even lasted three months, because it was such a miniscule number.

Newt once again accepted the pipe that was handed to him, bringing it to his lips. The woman moved slightly, and that's when he caught the tattoo on her wrist—the kaiju glyph that belonged to one person and one person only. He took a moment to process this as he hit the pipe, realizing that the woman in front of him was the same woman who had been at Hannibal Chau's lair-shop-hideout-thing back when he went looking for the kaiju brain. She'd let her hair grow out, which was why he didn't immediately recognize her, but it was unmistakably her once he'd realized it.

Newt let the smoke slowly out of his mouth before speaking. “You worked for Hannibal Chau, right? I saw you there that one time?”

The woman raised an eyebrow, and Newt realized that she probably _could_ kill him if she wanted to. “I still do.”

“That's impossible. I saw him get eaten by the baby kaiju.” Newt said in response, because _he'd seen the guy get swallowed by Otachi's baby_. “People don't just survive shit like that.”

“I do.” The voice coming from behind him was deep and gravelly, and could really only belong to one person in particular, even though said person was supposedly dead. Newt turned slowly, disbelieving right up until the very last second, because there stood Hannibal Chau, very much alive, gaudy suit and all. “Well look who it is. You know, I just got a call about you.” the man said, pointing at Newt with a large finger.

“You're alive,” is the only thing Newt can manage to get out because he's slightly drunk and at least a little bit stoned—though he's pretty sure any goons of Hannibal Chau would go for the high grade—and he had seriously seen this guy get killed. Dead. Kaiju food. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to survive that. The ammonia should have been too much for the human body.

It was a lot to wrap his head around.

“It takes more than that to kill me, kid.” Hannibal crossed his arms at this. “But would you mind explaining to me why I have a Herc Hanson calling me saying that one half of his science division has gone missing?”

Newt blinked, slowly realizing that Marshal Hanson had been referring to _him_ when talking about half of his science division.

Oops.

“Um. My phone died? And I got lost?” He didn't exactly know what to say. It wasn't his fault that Hermann had gone to the Marshal, who then apparently contacted the leader of the Asian black market.

Who, really, was supposed to be dead anyway. Nobody ever kept Newt in the loop.

“You should know that I don't like people calling me on my personal line for stupid shit.” Hannibal said, his voice verging on scary quiet.

“It's not my fault that Hermann freaked out after I'd been gone for a few hours. If you're going to take it out on anyone, just make sure it's not me.”

“Queenie, go tell the driver to get ready.” Hannibal said, nodding to the woman sitting across from Newt. She bowed her head before sliding out of the booth, making her way out the back door of the bar. “You could get yourself killed out here, son.” he added after a moment, and Newt really couldn't tell if it was a warning or a thinly-veiled threat.

“I could get myself killed in a lot of places.” Newt downed the last of his drink, slamming the glass onto the table harder than he'd anticipated.

Hannibal stared for a moment, or at least Newt was assuming he was staring because the damned glasses made it a bit hard to see his eyes, before narrowing his eyebrows. “You need a ride back?”

Newt scoffed, partially because he was being offered a ride by the most dangerous criminal he'd ever met (not that he met many criminals, mind you) and partially because he'd rather continue wandering aimlessly around Hong Kong than head back to the Shatterdome. Especially since Hermann had gone and involved Herc Hanson, and it was a safe bet that Tendo had been kept in the loop as well. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I'll stick with avoiding the Shatterdome until I'm finished moping.”

At least he was honest.

“You got a death wish, kid?”

“No, I don't have—look, if I go back to the Shatterdome right now, it's not going to be pretty.” Newt made a face because he was an adult, damn it, he could damn well mope when he wanted to. Hannibal was silent for a moment and Newt briefly wondered if he was going to get stabbed or something because he'd denied his kindness, which was most likely a rarity. “I just...I dunno, can I get a ride to a safer part of town? I'll try not to wander anywhere that could get me killed.”

 

* * *

 

 Turns out that the booze mixed with the weed really kicked in once Newt crawled into the car, unable to keep himself upright as he sunk down against Hannibal's side. Which probably wasn't the best place to be if the guy suddenly decided to break Newt's face for drooling on his coat, but Newt was all for living on the edge. “Fuck him, man.” he said without thinking, breaking the silence that had formed once the door had been shut.

“What?” Hannibal responded, and Newt almost jumped because he forgot how close they were. The intoxicated haze he felt around him—making him feel warm and floaty, and definitely destroying his impulse control—took the edge off the devastation he'd felt earlier.

He let out a hesitant breath because a part of him still realized the fact that this wasn't just anyone he was leaning on, but _Hannibal Chau,_ and that everything he was doing was likely to make the whole situation the second stupidest thing he'd ever done.

(Right behind drifting with a kaiju.)

(Twice.)

“It's just, he's basically the only person I've talked to about _anything_ for the past like, eight years at least. And I don't really know what's going to happen now because I didn't expect this. And you can't just do that to someone out of the blue like that. Man, Hermann is such a dick.”

“Christ, kid, I think you may need adult supervision when going out to drink.”

“I can supervise myself, thanks.” Newt responded childishly, trying to make his tongue work right because it was sticking to the top of his mouth. “I saved the world, asshole.”

He wasn't too concerned with the fact that calling Hannibal Chau an asshole was a terrible idea—though he probably should have been—but he also had to focus very carefully on the words leaving Hannibal's mouth, feeling as though he had to grab them out of space to really think about them. “Christ kid, maybe they should keep a shorter leash on you. I get the feeling you go looking for trouble.” Hannibal quipped.

Newt wanted to argue with that, but Hannibal was right.

Kind of.

“You almost have a point, but I'm an adult, man. I can do what I waaaaaant.” Newt closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the way it felt like the world was turning sideways, only to discover that his center of gravity really was so fucked that he'd sunk down so that he was half-lying on Hannibal's lap. Probably not the best position to be in, he thought.

His train of thought was slowly brought to a halt, however, when his eyes began to gradually fall shut again. He couldn't really find it in himself to worry for the safety of his life before he passed out, but he _did_ manage to wonder how Hannibal could still see through those damned glasses at night, and if the guy was just sacrificing his sense of sight for the sake of looks.

And Hannibal Chau just didn't seem as intimidating as he should have.


	2. Newt Narrowly Avoids Death. Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone gets stoned, and some even talk about feelings.

Newt was pretty accustomed to waking up in weird positions, what with being a man of science and falling asleep during the few moments that he could spare, but the last thing he expected was to wake up on the floor. At first, he assumed that he had passed out in the lab, but upon opening his eyes he realized that he was in a kitchen.

A nice kitchen.

Seriously. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been in such a nice kitchen. The countertops almost sparkled and it was the type of chic design that probably cost a fortune. Which still begged the question: why was he on the floor in the first place? He didn't feel the way he normally did after a night of drinking, but it tasted like something had died in his mouth nonetheless and he groaned as he struggled to push himself to his feet. The headache made itself known as he stood upright, throbbing behind his eyes and Newt had to lean on the counter to keep from falling on his ass.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember what had happened after Hermann broke up with him—though he wasn't really ready to think about the breakup itself and would leave that for later. He remembered the walking, and his phone dying (he checked his pockets briefly, finding both his phone and his wallet where they were supposed to be) and he was able to recall entering the bar, but things got a bit fuzzy at that point.

Drinking. Obviously.

Then the couple at the bar, he remembered vaguely, who shared their pipe and let him whine about his problems. And then—

There were footsteps from the kitchen doorway and Newt remembered with a painful clarity who exactly the sympathetic gangsters worked for, turning hesitantly even though he already knew who was standing there.

He was expecting Hannibal to look angry or maybe have his knife out, about to stab Newt in the dick for being such a hassle, but he looked almost amused. He was leaning against the door frame, sans glasses, with an overly-expensive bathrobe that hung open to reveal a scarred chest. The two men stared at each other, Newt hoping that he wasn't about to be killed or injured because he felt like shit enough as it was, before Hannibal finally broke the silence. “You're the biggest goddamn moron I've ever met.”

Newt wasn't about to argue that point, because he could remember calling Chau an asshole during the previous night, though he couldn't quite remember if there was a car involved or not. “Yep.” he said simply, realizing again that the taste of death still lingered at the back of his mouth. His eyes found the big, stainless steel fridge but he was too afraid to move towards it so he just pressed his back against the counter, awaiting his fate.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it already.” Hannibal said gruffly, moving past the scientist to open the fridge. He rummaged around for a bit before emerging with a bottle of water in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. “You like eggs?” he asked, handing the bottle over to Newt, who stared at it for a few seconds before accepting it.

“Uh, yeah. Eggs are...good.” Newt muttered as he unscrewed the bottle cap, trying to figure out what was going on. Because there was no way that the lord of the Asian black market was making him breakfast. It was impossible.

Even if it looked like the guy was making eggs.

“So I guess you don't remember throwing up on my Persian rug.” Chau said after a moment, his back to Newt as he set a pan on the stove.

“Uhhhhhhh,” Newt wasn't able to come up with a good answer, because he couldn't even remember entering Hannibal's apartment, but it sounded like something he'd get himself into, so he trailed off and took a few gulps of water instead. “I do not recall. Sorry. Maybe you have the wrong guy.”

He couldn't tell, but he was pretty sure he got an actual smile out of Hannibal Chau, and he couldn't decide if the thought boosted his ego or scared the shit out of him. He decided to go with a mix of both as he replaced the lid on his bottle and bit his lip, wishing he had some Chapstick.

“You're going back to the Shatterdome after breakfast, kid.” Hannibal said, turning from the stove to point at Newt.

Newt, in turn, nodded because he was in no position to argue. He was lucky that Hannibal hadn't already killed him and dumped his body in a river somewhere. He already felt scandalous enough because Hannibal Chau was making him breakfast in a bathrobe, and he would bet money on the guess that Hannibal Chau didn't cook breakfast for anyone. “I guess I'd have to deal with Hermann eventually, anyway.” Newt heaved a sigh at this because he knew he'd have to give Marshal Hansen and explanation, too, and he didn't even want to think about how awkward that would be.

 

They ate in relative silence. Mainly because Newt couldn't help but feel awkward given the he was eating breakfast across from a criminal who he'd thought was dead for two months, but anyone would feel awkward if Hannibal Chau had just cooked them breakfast. Anyone. It was a scientific fact—Newt knew, he was a scientist, after all.

“Do you think that if I let you stab me or something Hermann will want to get back together?” Newt finally asks, shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He didn't really expect an answer because it was a stupid question, but Hannibal makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle before shaking his head.

“Don't be stupid.”

“Yeah. He'd probably just roll his eyes.” Or give him a lecture about how Pentecost had clearly said not to trust Hannibal Chau, but Newt wasn't really in the mood to piss the guy off by bringing that up. “Hey, do you think your scary henchman woman would sell me some weed if I asked nicely?”

“Who the hell do you think she buys it from?” Hannibal asked in response, setting his fork back on the table. It made sense, of course, because the PPDC records on him had mentioned some sort of drug trafficking, but Newt had expected the bad shit. Like, cocaine or ecstasy or something having to do with the kaiju (Newt had actually heard of people attempting to get some sort of high off of kaiju blood, which only ever ended in trips to the emergency room because, duh, kaiju blood was too toxic to do anything with, not that people were smart enough to remember that).

But selling weed?

Newt had known like, seven guys back in high school who sold weed. It seemed almost like a juvenile level of crime for someone in the position Hannibal Chau was, not that anyone would ever say that to his face.

“So, uh, is that a no?”

 

* * *

 

The Shatterdome wasn't too busy, for which Newt was grateful because it allowed him to make his way through the halls without being noticed. He wasn't entirely prepared to face Hermann, and swallowing his pride to apologize to the Marshal sounded even worse. He didn't even apologize for going against direct orders when it came to drifting with a kaiju—you don't even report a person missing until what, three days later?

It was Hermann's fault for being such a dick.

Newt felt good, though. He'd smoked a bowl with Hannibal before leaving (which the scientist wasn't thinking about too hard because it was just weird) and it took the painful edge off of his breakup. Still, he didn't know how in the anteverse he was going to talk to Hermann in a civil fashion and he wanted to avoid trouble; wanted to hang out in his room and get stoned until he figured out what the hell he was going to do.

He made it back to his quarters with only one close-call, managing to hide around a corner when Herc Hansen walked by with some technician, flopping onto his unmade bed with his door shut tight behind him. The entire situation surrounding Hannibal Chau was... well, the closest word he could think of was 'uncomfortable', because Hannibal Chau was actually...

Nice.

Ish. I mean, he still nearly stabbed Newt when they first met and he wasn't 'friendly', per se, but he wasn't the sociopath that Newt had been led to believe.

Newt kicked off his boots and pulled the baggie out of his pocket, crossing his legs as he reached underneath the bed to grab the bong he hadn't used since the second kaiju made land. His hand skirted over a shoe and some dirty laundry before finally brushing the cold glass, pulling the bong out to stand it upright. It was covered in a fine layer of dust that had been there long before they'd been moved to Hong Kong. It was hard to find time to do anything when saving the world, and Newt had just never found the time to smoke anything other than the cigarettes Mako had offered him on a couple occasions when she was going through her rebellious phase.

Hannibal Chau was probably a bad influence, Newt thought in slight amusement as he reached for the jug of water he kept on his nightstand to fill up the bong. But, he justified, he was a goddamn rockstar and he could make bad decisions if he wanted to. If he wanted to spend the entirety of his future paychecks on drugs or alcohol or even an amusement park, he would expect everyone to keep their mouths shut because he saved the world.

To be fair, he'd offer the same courtesies to everyone else who saved the world, too.

Newt packed a bowl with his head full of jumbled thoughts, simultaneously wishing he could tell Hermann about his shenanigans while still kind of hating the guy. They'd been friends (in a loose definition of the term, perhaps) for so long that Newt didn't really know who else he could tell.

Half an hour later, he let out a barely-audible groan at knocking at the door, tucking the bong out of sight before getting to his feet. He didn't even have to check to know who it was and he ignored the pang in his chest when he opened the door.

Hermann was in full on bitch-face mode, but his eyebrows narrowed when he saw the state Newt was in. “Newton, are you...”

“Baked? Yeah. Like a cake.” Newt tried his hardest to grin sheepishly, but he knew that Hermann would see right through it like he saw through everything, so he stepped aside and motioned him in.

“You're a bloody idiot.” Hermann began, moving some magazines off Newt's office chair so he could sit down. “I hope you realize that.”

Newt moved from the doorway to sit on the edge of his bed. “Realized and embraced.” he replied with a nod.

“Where the hell were you last night?” Hermann hissed in response, and Newt knew him well enough to know that his words were wrapped in worry.

“I'm pretty sure that there's no version of the story that you'd like, so I'm just gonna go with the basics; I got lost, and then I got drunk, and then I spent the night at Hannibal Chau's apartment.” Hermann didn't seem to know how to react so Newt cleared his throat before adding, “And then he cooked me breakfast.”

“And by Hannibal Chau, you mean...” Hermann trailed off, a signal for Newt to elaborate.

“Hannibal Chau. You know, big intimidating crime lord who funded this entire program and then got eaten by a kaijuling? Yeah, well, turns out he's not as dead as everyone thought.”

“And you just so happened to run into him?”

“I ran into a couple of his surprisingly-friendly henchmen first.” Newt said, relieved that the two of them were talking like normal. Or, well, close to normal.

“And did you sleep with him?”

“Whooooaa, whoa, what. No, what? Why would I—dude, he's...no.” Newt couldn't figure out how to make his brain work fast enough, but the question had taken him by complete surprise. “I threw up on his Persian rug—reportedly—and passed out on his kitchen floor.”

“Look, Newton, I've never been good with 'feelings',” Hermann started, opening his mouth to say something more but closing it soon after.

“You can, uh, take a hit. If you want.” Newt grabbed the bong and held it out to Hermann, figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Twenty minutes later, they were both lying back on Newton's bed staring up at the ceiling. “And you know, I thought it would be something I could grow into,” Hermann continued, not entirely crying but on the verge, and Newt couldn't blame him because the mathematician had just opened up more than ever before. However, Newt completely blamed himself for not knowing that Hermann's wife had died in San Francisco on K-Day. “but I can't love you, Newton. I can't love anyone, not after Vanessa.”

Newt twined his fingers with Hermann's because he understood and he couldn't ask for anything more that Hermann's friendship. “It's okay, man. I get it.” The biologist said, squeezing Hermann's hand before letting go. “I'm sorry for being an asshole and leaving.”

Hermann hesitated before speaking, making a face. “So, Hannibal Chau.”He managed finally, raising an eyebrow over at Newt, who did his best to shrug despite lying on his back.

“I don't fucking know, dude. But Hansen called him, apparently,” Newt took a moment to send an accusing look over at Hermann before continuing, “so there was obviously a loop we were left out of because, you know, the dude's alive and kicking.”

“Pentecost told you not to trust him.” Hermann reminded, though he knew it was in vain. Telling Newt not to do something was like daring him to do that exact thing, and sometimes Hermann just didn't feel like throwing down that gauntlet.

“If he wanted to kill me, he could have easily done it.” Newt offered as some sort of reassurance that he wasn't hanging out with the wrong type of people. And really, it was a one-time thing based off of a random happenstance. It wasn't likely that he would go knocking at Hannibal's door again for no good reason, and it was still doubtful if his reason was good. “His henchmen didn't even kill me. They just got me high. Which is like, weird, right? Or is it just hip to smoke with strangers now? Is that a new thing that I missed while saving the world?”

“I believe that if you want an answer to that question, you'll have to ask for someone far more 'hip' than me.” Hermann muttered back. “But you're an idiot for immediately being so trusting of strangers. You're like a goddamn puppy.”

Newt smiled in response, elbowing Hermann lightly in the arm. “You're like the hippest guy I know! And I know like, at least fifteen people.”

They both laughed, and Newt felt a certain sense of contentment at the fact that he was able to have this moment. The breakup didn't have to be a huge thing, and he supposed that Hannibal's goons had been talking about when bringing up friendship.

It was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watch too much "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" and I get the feeling that Newt would be a lot like Charlie in a lot of ways.
> 
> And oh man I remember I messed up my dad's Persian rug once and I'm pretty sure he still hasn't forgiven me.
> 
> And I just really want a montage of Newt and Hermann doing stoned science set to some sappy music. Because reasons.
> 
> Thanking you for reading and hopefully shipping this as hard as I do because it's comforting to know I'm not alone c:


	3. Keeping an Eye on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt receives a gift and gets bossed around by Marshal Hansen, and everything only becomes more confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone! I started college and have had basically no time or inspiration, but I'm hoping that updates will become more regular in the future. c:

Newt did a pretty good job of distracting himself from the whole “ _Hannibal Chau_ ” ordeal, despite the fact that it was _literally_ the weirdest chain of events he'd ever experienced. Which was saying something because, as a scientist, he'd seen some weird shit. It came with the territory.

In any case, he'd managed to push the entire incident to the back of his mind, right up until the point when he found the package on his desk a week later.

An enormous cardboard box, unlabeled and unmarked, sat upon the desk's surface, taking up the majority of the space and wrinkling Newt's papers at the edges. Newt figured that it was fair game to open it because the age old adage of _curiosity killed the cat_ doesn't apply to science and you can't just expect a scientist to not open a package that he finds on his desk because what if there's something cool inside? The mysterious must be made known.

Or something like that.

The box was simply too big to ignore and Newt had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was from, anyway.

If he focused really hard, Newt could vaguely remember a conversation with Hannibal Chau pertaining to kaiju eyes and how Newt would _probably_ kill a guy to own one. And even though it was completely far-fetched to think that Hannibal Chau would do anything for _anyone_ , let alone Newt, once the biologist had peeled up the tape and dug through several layers of bubble wrap, he pulled out a huge glass jar containing—wouldn't you know it—a kaiju eye.

It was probably the most beautiful Newt had ever seen in his entire life.

He almost dropped it ten seconds later when it hit him that Chau had _actually_ given him a kaiju eye.

Setting the jar on what space remained on his desk, Newt grabbed the box and turned it upside down so he could shake the contents out to ensure that he didn't miss anything.

For example, a receipt from the sale of his soul to Hannibal Chau because Newt still couldn't really remember anything from when he was drunk, but selling his soul seemed to be something that he would do.

Lo and behold, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and Newt tossed the box to the side, taking a breath before unfolding the note.

“ _Don't wander the city alone, idiot, you may not be so lucky next time. I figured this might keep you out of trouble.”_

The note wasn't signed, but it didn't matter because it was already painfully obvious who it was from, which only made Newt get a panicky feeling in his chest. Pentecost had clearly said _not_ to trust Chau and yet it was entirely possible that Newt had done something ridiculously stupid that would probably maybe get him killed or horrifically injured by the hands of a man who practically owned the Chinese black market. It wasn't the best situation to be in, to be honest.

Maybe, Newt thought sarcastically, Hannibal Chau felt some kind of sorry for him and the eye was sort of a, _“it sucks that your boyfriend broke up with you, here's a kaiju piece to ease your pain”_ kind of gift.

Which, obviously, was very unlikely because Chau liked inflicting pain far more than he liked easing it. Newt could still remember the pure terror he'd felt when he'd been about three seconds from getting his nose cut off by Hannibal's fancy knife, and it wasn't a position he'd like to be in again, truthfully.

Newt refolded the note and tossed it onto his desk, unsure of how he was supposed to be feeling. What if Chau was just trying to lure him into a false sense of security by making him breakfast and selling him weed and giving him a kaiju eye, only to kill him later on in some horrible and scary fashion? Just as Newt was beginning to contemplate the possibility of having to sleep with one eye open, the lab door opened and Marshal Hansen sauntered in, tailed by Tendo Choi.

Which probably couldn't be good news because Hansen normally avoided the science-y parts of the Shatterdome like the Plague.

“Doctor Geiszler, I assume you've fixed any problems you were having with Doctor Gottlieb?” Herc began, raising an eyebrow sternly as he came to stand in front of the biologist.

Newt nodded somewhat awkwardly because he still wasn't happy about the fact that his relationship problems were well-known to basically everyone else who remained in the PPDC, but he wasn't out to piss Hansen off. Hansen was scary. Probably a lot scarier than Pentecost when it came right down to it.

“Good, but that's not why I came. You've spoken to Hannibal Chau before, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Newt agreed hesitantly because he immediately didn't like where the conversation was going.

“I need you to go talk to him again.”

Newt made a face because that really didn't sound like something he should do. “Are you sure that you're not mixing up your words and you aren't trying to say, 'Doctor Geiszler, stay away from Hannibal Chau at all costs'? Because that sounds like the better option here, in my very, uh, scientific opinion.”

Marshal Hansen stared for a few moments—though Newt was at least happy to get a snicker out of Tendo—before adopting an even grumpier face than before. “Geiszler, all I need ye' ta do is go and give him his severance pay.”

“He gets a severance pay? I thought he was the one who funded all of this in the first place. Wouldn't he technically be paying himself?” Newt asked in return.

Herc didn't look like he wanted to deal with Newt's questions, heaving a sigh as he shoved the envelope towards the scientist. “I don't have time for this. Just do it.”

With that, Hansen turned and walked out, leaving Newt with an envelope that he really, _really_ didn't want to deliver.

* * *

Of course.

Of course it would fucking choose to rain as Newt walked through the streets to deliver the stupid envelope to a stupid mob boss.

Newt was pissed.

Though, not necessarily at Herc. Because his no-nonsense attitude made complete sense and he was holding up well for someone who had lost his son so recently. After the closing of the Breach, Hansen hadn't even taken a break, just picked up the loose ends and began tying them himself.

Still, the last thing Newt wanted to be doing was paying a visit to Hannibal Chau. He still wasn't clear on if the guy wanted to kill him or not, and Newt hadn't even asked if he was technically being sent to fire him.

Chau just didn't seem like the type one could fire.

He did, however, seem like the type to shoot the messenger, which Newt was all too afraid of.

Letting out a groan, he zipped up his jacket and mentally cursed at the weather, feeling like it had a personal vendetta against him. By the time he reached the corner at Fong and Tull he was freezing, mostly soaked, and at least 83% miserable.

At least.

He made his way into Chau's shop, hoping that Hannibal himself would be out doing black-market-business-type stuff and he could just leave the envelope with one of the henchmen. The man behind the counter raised and eyebrow when Newt walked in, not the same old guy as before but still vaguely familiar. “You here for the boss?” he asked, inclining his head towards the hidden door.

“Uh, yeah, is he in?” Newt asked, sincerely hoping that the answer would be a no. He was a mess and he wasn't in the mood to deal with _anyone_ , let alone Hannibal Chau.

“He's in a meeting, but you can wait until he gets out.”

“And how long do you think that would take?” Newt was trying to decide if it would be worth it to just leave the package with the lackey because it was beginning to seem like the best option. The sooner he returned to the Shatterdome, the sooner he could flop into bed and pass out under a billion blankets.

However.

Going back out into the rain, despite the fact that he was practically soaked to the bone already, seemed like a bad idea, and some weird part of him was almost... _excited_ to see Hannibal, the implications of which he was choosing to ignore. In any case, the shop was at least warmer than the outside world and Newt was all for appreciating the smaller things.

“Only a few minutes.”

“Cool, then I'll wait, then.”

Newt stood there quietly and awkwardly for seventeen minutes before the hidden door began to slide open, stepping aside when three scrawny guys in crappy suits poured thorough, one of which was sporting a fresh black eye. Chau stepped out a few moments later, glancing at Newt briefly before closing the door behind the three men. “Well look at what the cat dragged in. Didn't I tell you not to wander around on your own?”

“I was, uh. Sent. By Marshal Hansen.” If nothing else, Newt wanted that part to be clear. Unzipping his jacket, he reached into the inside pocket which had miraculously managed to stay dry and pulled out the envelope, holding it out and bracing himself. Chau grabbed for the envelope while simultaneously reaching for his knife, and Newt flinched before he was able to realize that the knife was to slice open the seal and not to stab him in the chest. “So now that you have that, I think I'm going to, um, leave?”

“You'll drown out there, kid.” Hannibal muttered, scanning over the paper that he pulled from the envelope before nodding. “Besides, everything seems to be in order here so I don't even have to kill ya.”

“Was that a, a possibility?” Newt asked, his voice rising in octave. He honestly wasn't sure if his life was in danger or not, especially since Hannibal's only response to the question was a chuckle. He didn't necessarily _feel_ like he was going to die in the immediate future, but he wasn't exactly an expert on predicting the future either.

Chau motioned for Newt to follow him through the hidden door, and Newt was too indecisive to refuse, almost surprised to find the lab space void of people as he entered. “Kaiju trade isn't as busy as it used to be.” Hannibal explained when he noticed the look on Newt's face.

“So what's up with the eye that popped up on my desk this morning?”

Because something had to be wrong if the kaiju trade was coming to a halt due to the abrupt decline of the product and Hannibal was just giving freebies. The guy probably could have made a ton of money off the eye, but instead he'd given it to Newt, and the biologist was hoping to find out what the hell that was all about.

“You said you wanted one.”

“Yeah, and I also want a time machine so I can go back in time and hit on Nikola Tesla, but I don't see that happening any time soon.”

“I thought Tesla was only into pigeons.”

New opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, biting his lip with a critical look over to Chau because half the people he ever spoke to didn't even know who Tesla _was_. Hannibal obviously knew.

And Newt wasn't sure what to do with that information.

“I have to ask, but did I sell you my soul when I was drunk?”

“Do you ask from experience?”

“Wha—no. I just know that it's bad business to give away freebies when there's money to be made.”

Hannibal laughed—Newt narrowing his eyes at the sound—before opening a door into a hallway that Newt hadn't even noticed last time he was there. “Kid, the only person who wanted to buy that eye was some freakshow with a camera guy who said he planned on eating it for a TV pilot. Obviously, it's going to go to better use with you.”

“Ew. I mean, I've done some pretty stupid things but that dude must have been pretty messed up.” Newt made a face, feeling at least a little bit better knowing that his soul still belonged to him, following Chau into an empty lounge area.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Uhhhh, do you have like Mountain Dew or something?” Newt asked, taking his leather jacket off. His t-shirt had remained dry but he still didn't want to sit down on any of the furniture that skirted the room because his pants were pretty soaked and he'd already dripped on the floor enough.

Hannibal walked over to the bar that took up most of the far wall, raising an eyebrow at Newt's request. “What, you done with alcohol or something?”

“Something.”

“The only non-alcoholic drink in this place is water.”

Newt let out a breath, reluctant to drink around Chau because it was practically asking for trouble, but made up his mind in only a few seconds. “Then I guess I'll take whatever you're having.”

He was running out of things to worry about. It didn't seem like Chau was going to kill him, which was definitely a good thing but it only made everything that was going on even _weirder_. Hannibal was being _nice_ to him. From what Newt knew, criminals were only nice to people when there was something to be gained from it, and he didn't really have anything to offer.

“Did you work things out with your boyfriend?” Hannibal asked as he poured two glasses of whiskey, not looking up from his hands as he did so.

“Yeah. His reason for ending it was good and we're staying friends, even though he and I still spend most of our time arguing.” Newt accepted the glass as it was handed to him, never much a fan of whiskey but willing to tolerate it for the sake of not seeming rude. “But, I mean, it all still sucks.”

“That's life, bub.” Hannibal said with a smirk, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Have a seat.”

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't want to get anything wet.”

“Kid, I have to get these couches re-upholstered every few months anyway because of the blood stains. A little water isn't going to do shit.”

Newt couldn't help but pale at “ _blood stains_ ” but he sat down across from Chau anyway, staring helplessly down at the glass of whiskey in his hands. His pants clung uncomfortably to his skin but he ignored it to the best of his ability because there was nothing to be done about it.

“I didn't know you were inked.” Hannibal observed, nodding to Newt's arms.

“Uh, yeah. I tend not to advertise the fact.” Newt muttered back, still finding it intimidating that he couldn't see the guy's eyes.

Which was probably the way Chau wanted it, but still.

“Lemme see,” Hannibal said, motioning for Newt to move his arm closer. Newt briefly imagined something sharp being driven through his forearm if he complied, but held his arms out anyway, setting his glass on the table beside him.

“People tend to get...weirded out. When they see my tattoos, I mean.” Newt explained as Hannibal grabbed his wrists. He felt tiny in comparison, like his wrists could be snapped like twigs, but Chau's fingertips were mostly gentle as he traced the edges of the colored ink. “My mother just about had a heart attack after I got Trespasser.”

“You saved the world, kid, you don't have to justify your ink to anyone.” Hannibal said, withdrawing his hands.

Newt didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

 

Newt had never had a type.

He liked people for all their little differences and quirks, and he liked smart people. That was the only commonality between all of the people he'd ever dated—their minds. Intelligence had always been the deciding factor in his relationships. In middle school, his first crush was a girl named Yvonne who scored better on every test and quiz that they both had. She was taller than him and wore ugly sweaters more often than not but Newt thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

That is, until she moved to California for high school and they never spoke again.

In high school, Newt dated three members of the speech and debate team and two from the math team. He even had a brief fling with a guy on the football team which ended after a week because Jason wanted to keep the fact that he was a genius who was into guys on the down low. In college, he even dated a professor.

But it was all in the past and wasn't going to help him with his current predicament.

“Hermann, no, you don't get it. I delivered his severance pay to him. He seems pretty done with the PPDC altogether and I just don't see why he's so nice to me. That's why I need to get someone _else_ to go talk to him to see how he reacts. Is he _really_ just a nice guy, or is he just being nice to _me_?”

“Just be thankful that he hasn't killed you and leave it at that.” Hermann muttered back, glancing from the paper he was writing on and his chalkboard.

“I can't just _leave it_!” Newt cried, rubbing his hands through his hair until it was more of a mess than usual.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Newt started, opening his mouth to continue but finding no words. He stammered or a few seconds before Hermann cut him off.

“You find him attractive, don't you?”

“What? No. No, I...No.” Still, the guess had stuck a chord with Newt, and it only made him want to deny it harder. “Why would you even say that dude? I, I, I would never...”

“Right.” Hermann said, and though it was clear that he didn't quite believe his colleague he wasn't going to push the subject. “Well, good luck with recruiting someone stupid enough to go along with your plan. I, for one, will have no part of it.”

Newt let out a huff before glancing towards the eye that still sat in its jar on his desk.

Hermann was right—he had an idiot to recruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yeah, Newt has a plan. I wonder how that will turn out c:
> 
> See you next chapter friends uwu


	4. New World In My View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets called in to talk the kaiju lingo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've had so many papers due recently and so much stuff to study for and my motivation has been somewhere around -60.

Flopping gracelessly onto his bed, Newt let out a despairing groan as he kicked his shoes onto the floor where he'd undoubtedly trip over them later. His so-called “plan” was practically crashing and burning before it had even left the ground, and he wasn't sure why he felt so hell-bent on figuring out whether or not Hannibal Chau was secretly plotting his downfall in the first place.

Plus, Hermann was sort of right. It wasn't exactly a good plan, and not because it could potentially get him killed. Recruiting someone to help him was next to impossible because everyone in the Shatterdome was either too busy to help with his shenanigans or too famous to be of any help at all, because chances were if he brought along one of the Jaeger pilots, Chau would be respectful out of...well, respect. And Newt's circle of acquaintances didn't really extend beyond the PPDC.

It was a predicament.

An entirely avoidable predicament, when he really thought about it, but a predicament nonetheless.

Letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh, he shoved himself into a sitting position and reached for the box where he'd taken to stashing his weed should Marshal Hansen ever decide to pay him an impromptu visit, at Hermann's quip about how unwise it was to leave it out in plain sight.

Not that Newt would ever let Hermann know that he took his advice to heart.

The guy did tend to know what he was talking about sometimes.

The motions of packing a bowl were becoming familiar and almost relaxing despite the fact that with each bowl he packed, the closer he became to running out of weed which would be fine except it was the only thing that broke up the tedium that had settled over the science department after the apocalypse had been canceled.

It also helped with the headaches.

It was 100% understandable that the Drift would have done some lasting damage but the headaches _sucked_ and it made him almost regret having set up a pons with a pile of garbage. Aspirin only did so much and he felt like he was going crazy sometimes.

But, of course, if he actually wanted to get more weed he'd have to go back to Hannibal Chau, and that was still endlessly intimidating.

(Which was pretty damn silly, all considered. Newt had saved the entire goddamned world and he was afraid of buying drugs from a guy who _probably_ wasn't going to kill him. Overall, it was safer than hooking his brain up to an alien on two separate occasions, which was most likely an indicator that his priorities weren't exactly in the right order but who needed priorities anyway?)

In any case, Newt wasn't exactly sure what to do in regards to Chau and it felt like thinking about the guy just turned into an endless loop of confusion and confusing frustration.

It was half an hour later when the bowl had been finished off that Newt's phone rang, startling him out of his daydream of tiny, domesticated kaiju with its chirpy default ringtone and he sat up and grabbed it from the pocket of the jacket he'd draped over the end of the bed. “Hello?” he answered not bothering to check the caller ID, although it didn't really matter because only a handful of people even had his number.

“Geiszler.” the person on the other end said, and Newt froze, his heart leaping in his chest in a way he didn't want to spend too long analyzing.

It was painfully obvious who the caller was because there was only one person with a voice that low and gravelly who would even be calling, and the only thing that came to mind to say was, “May I ask who's calling?”, which sounded lame even to Newt but his mind was moving slow so it was the best he could do.

Chau made a noise that Newt was fairly certain was a scoff, though it could have been shitty reception on his end, and the biologist switched his phone to the other ear. “It's Hannibal Chau, kid.”

It wasn't new information and hearing his already-strong suspicions affirmed didn't make the situation any easier to deal with, and he hadn't come up with anything to say in the few seconds he'd managed to buy himself. “Oh.”

“What, were you expecting a call from someone else?” Chau asked, audibly amused.

It only made Newt feel in over his head, more so than before. “No it's just...I wasn't expecting a call. From you. Or anyone, really. But mostly not from you because there are only like, four people who have my number and last I checked you weren't on that list.”

“I have connections.”

“Right. So...was there something you needed?”

Newt was almost afraid to ask but it was a question that was burning at the front of his mind because Hannibal Chau wouldn't just call him out of the blue for no reason.

“I have a guy here who has kaiju pieces that he thinks I'd be interested in buying.”

“And you're not?”

“If they're the real deal I wouldn't see a reason not to take them off his hands, but the guy seems kinda flaky—won't let me or my guys open the jars until money has changed hands.”

“But he'll let an outside source see them?” Which did seem pretty darn flaky, but the guy could also just be watching his back. If Newt were involved in any underground trade, he'd probably want to make sure that a big scary gangster didn't take his goods and not come through with the cash and this guy could be doing the same.

“That's what he's saying. And who better than you to do it, given that you're the world's leading expert on the subject?”

Newt paused for a moment, not entirely how to respond to such praise from Chau before shrugging despite the fact that he was alone in his room. “Sure, why not?”

Because really, what was the worst that could happen?

 

* * *

 

When he was delivered by fancy car to the kaiju remedy shop he was still stoned—more so than he necessarily wanted to be, given that it only made him more fidgety than usual, especially in regards to Chau—and was escorted inside by Queenie (at least, he was pretty sure that was her name, they'd never been formally introduced) in near silence. Once inside, he was practically shoved through the hidden doorway only to be met with five people staring up at him.

“This your outside source?” one of them asked, crossing his arms as he appraised the biologist and Newt figured that it had to be the guy who was selling the kaiju pieces. Three identical jars rested on the stainless steel counter top, the table itself acting as a barrier between Chau's men and him, and Newt honestly wasn't sure who was more intimidating. The tall guy staring him down was doing a pretty good job, a scar running down his face ending at his jaw. He was pretty scary.

“I've done business with him before.” Chau said, his voice breaking through the silence that Newt was half certain he was only imagining. “He knows a thing or two about kaiju.”

The tall guy turned his attention back to Hannibal, for which Newt was grateful because _if looks could kill._ “Then let's get down to business.”

Newt glanced over at Chau before stepping forward, which was closer to the guy than Newt really wanted to be but he tried not to look like he was stoned out of his mind and incredibly far out of his depth. Perhaps he'd underestimated the situation because everyone in the room could kill him in like, three seconds if it came to that and that wasn't doing any favors for his nerves.

At a first glance the pieces floating in the jars looked pretty normal but Newt hadn't become an expert by ignoring the details and it quickly became obvious that they were as fake as could be. He didn't even have to open up the jars to see it. He was about to clear his throat to speak when the tall guy stepped in front of him, blocking him from Hannibal's view and whispering quickly, “I can make this worth your while,” before crossing to Newt's other side. To anyone beside Hannibal Chau, it probably would have seemed like a simple impatient bout of pacing, but Chau's eyebrows furrowed and Newt swallowed nervously.

On the one hand, he could tell Chau the truth and probably maybe get killed by this tall guy.

But one the other he could lie to Chau and make him pay for fake kaiju pieces and that would probably also get him killed.

And okay, Newt didn't necessarily like the thought of lying to Chau in the first place because the guy had given him a kaiju eye and been kind of a nice guy for a while. Out of his two options, he'd rather just be honest because that's what he was called in to do in the first place. The only thing the newcomer would have to offer him would be money which, quite frankly, he didn't need.

Plus, Newt simply had too much respect for the biology of the kaiju to ever say that these pieces of junk were legitimate.

“These things are pretty convincing,” he began, trying to work his way through his anxiety and come off as some sort of confident, “but there is literally no way that any of this is from a real kaiju. It looks like there may be some reptilian, uh...parts here and there and overall it's a pretty damn good job, but unfortunately I'm probably the one person who could notice the flaws in the little details. Like, obviously this is meant to be an optic nerve but since I have an entire eye sitting on my desk back at the lab, I can tell you that these dangly bits right here,” he motioned into the jar, “aren't supposed to be there. And over here,” he pointed to the jar right beside it, “what is this even supposed to be? A chunk of a liver or something? Let me tell you, you're off on that one.”

“And who the hell are you, talking so technical?” the guy was getting closer to Newt and he pretty much figured that his first guess was correct. He was going to die at the hands of an angry gangster con artist, but at least he will have done so in the name of accurate science.

That was some consolation, at least.

In a matter of moments, the tall guy had Newt in front of him, a fist in his hair and a knife against his throat pressing uncomfortably against his windpipe.

And then everything happened really fast.

Seriously, Newt blinked and almost missed it.

Chau's henchman tossed one of the glass jars at the two lackeys, shooting them both in the foot while they were distracted as the jar itself fell to the floor and shattered. Hannibal took the opportunity to kick one of the stools into the knees of Newt's captor and both of them went down as they slipped on the preservative fluid.

Newt was on the floor and then he wasn't, and it took him a few moments to realize that Chau had hauled him up and put a protective arm around his shoulder. “He's the scientist that made human survival possible, you piece of shit,” he growled, a massive shoe coming down on the guy's knee, “and he just so happens to be an expert on all things kaiju.”

And that was the exact moment that Newt realized that he was in more trouble than he thought because Chau actually smelled really nice and had done a pretty good job of protecting his ass.

Which was more than a little bit overwhelming because it was _Hannibal Chau_ , and sure Newt had never really had a specific _type_ but he'd certainly never gone for someone with gold teeth and a penchant for crime.

He really needed a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get into the habit of outlining shit before I write it because I'm never able to stick to a storyline if I don't but it's still hard oops
> 
> but I really love writing this and the next chapter should be one of the fun ones so I hope I can get it out in a reasonable amount of time c:


	5. Tick, Tick, Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt moves on from denial to acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost twice as long as my normal chapters because it didn't feel right to break it in half. Oh well. I hope you enjoy uwu

Newt wanted to panic.

He wanted to get the hell out of there and maybe throw up, followed by a good amount of time lying on the ground, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor and he felt too much like a deer in the headlights for his liking. The realization that he had what could only be described as— _oh god_ —a _crush_ on Hannibal was...well, it was overwhelming, to say the least but the situation he'd just managed to survive by some weird stroke of luck made everything one hundred times worse and one hundred times more terrifying.

The con artist kaiju dealer didn't look like he was going to get back up anytime soon, or so Newt figured, because knees probably weren't supposed to bend that way and he kind of spaced out for a moment as Chau's guys dragged the three men out of the room. It took him a few confused seconds for him to realize that Hannibal had asked him a question, glowering down at him expectantly.

“What?” he asked, his voice cracking at the last syllable as he attempted to ignore his fight-or-flight instincts that were telling him to get the fuck out of there. He was at least partially sure that running wouldn't solve anything and Hannibal was showing something that looked suspiciously like _concern—_ Newt had to get to the bottom of it.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm good. Yeah.” The biologist said in response, only half-registering what was happening when Chau ushered him over to a chair at the far side of the room.

“You're bleeding.”

Newt put a hand up to his nose at Hannibal's gesture, his fingers coming away bloody. The bloody noses were another side-effect of the Drift that had thankfully almost stopped after the first two weeks but there was _another_ shirt ruined. “Oh, so I am. Yeah, that happens sometimes.”

“How about your throat?”

Newt brushed the back of his hand across his throat where the con artist guy had held the knife, nearly grimacing when a spot of blood smeared across his knuckle. The cut was minor, the knife barely breaking skin, and his entire throat felt tender which was a pretty good indicator that there was going to be a nasty bruise later on.

“I knew the guy was trouble. Shoulda just told him to beat it the second he brought his lying ass in here.” Chau muttered darkly, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket and holding it out to Newt. When the biologist accepted it, holding it against his nose, Hannibal continued in a voice that sounded almost furious. “Definitely shoulda shot 'im in the stomach the moment he pulled that little stunt. I imagine he offered to pay you to lie to me?”

Newt nodded lamely, breathing awkwardly through his mouth as he tilted his head back so he didn't bleed on anything important. “I figured that, out of my two options, he would at least kill me right off. Rather than dragging it out. Like some people.”

“Are you implying something, son?”

The THC and the coming down from the adrenaline were making it hard to string sentences together, but Newt tried his best not to make his near-hysteria obvious. The last thing Newt wanted to reveal was his suddenly-realized infatuation so reverting back to the idea that Chau was going to kill him was almost comforting, if not a comfortably familiar theory. Denial was one hell of a force. “I'm at least half sure that you're going to kill me. Maybe seventy-five percent sure on a bad day. Exact percentages don't really make sense right now.”

Chau let out a slight chuckle, not speaking immediately as he stared down at the scientist in his chair. “How many times do I gotta tell you, kid, I ain't gonna kill you.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you aren't going to kill me?”

It had seemed like a reasonable question before the words left his mouth, but to be fair, nothing was really making sense to Newt and sentences were ridiculously difficult to put together, especially because German words wanted to slip in but sticking to one language would probably get him the best results as far as communication went. He felt suddenly exhausted and a headache was pounding behind his eyes, making him wish that he'd never answered his phone so he could still be in bed where it was warm and decidedly less dangerous.

“I gave you a kaiju eye and you still think I'm going to kill you?”

“That crossed my mind at one point. But the way I see it, you could have wanted to lure me into a false sense of security before striking out of the blue. Or something.”

“You are a goddamned moron, Geiszler.” Hannibal muttered with a shake of his head. He at least looked somewhat amused, whereas Newt tried desperately to hold on onto the crumbling remains of denial. “One, if I was goin' to kill you, I would have done it the second you showed up looking for a kaiju brain. And I can't say it didn't cross my mind. And two, by killing one of the Pan Pacific Defense Corp's most important assets, I would land myself in a heap of trouble I would much rather avoid, thanks.” He paused, then continued in a slightly gentler tone, “You need a glass of water?”

Newt nodded, almost wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him so he would never have to think about how much of a fool he was making of himself. He just kept digging himself a deeper hole. Had no one else been in the room, he may have considered making a break for the exit so he could flee back to the Shatterdome and never acknowledge Chau's existence ever again but the henchmen who were lingering by the door would probably _not_ be on board with that plan.

And even if he chose to go through with it, he was pretty sure he wouldn't get past the point of actually standing up. Instead, he just closed his eyes promising himself that it would only be for a few seconds while he reorganized his thoughts.

It felt like just a few seconds but in reality it had probably been a few minutes before he felt a nudge at his shoulder, opening his eyes again to see Hannibal holding out a bottle of water. “What, no glass? And here I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for you to slip arsenic into my my glass and finish the job once and for all.” Hannibal gave him a look, opening his mouth to say something but Newt cut him off. “Relax, I'm kidding. You aren't trying to kill me, I get it.”

And he did.

However, the alternative wasn't a very attractive option either and Newt felt an inner conflict the likes of which he'd never really experienced.

* * *

When Newt got back to the Shatterdome it was well past midnight, which was only a slight inconvenience as he banged a fist against Hermann's door and listened to the metallic echoes thrown back to him from the angles of the hallway. He bit his lip as he heard Hermann grumble from inside, waiting a few moments before the door opened abruptly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I know, I know. But you have best friend duties to attend to, like coming to the mess with me so I can grab a cup of coffee and some food?” Newt tried his best to give a convincing smile, phrasing it like a question despite the fact that Hermann had practically no say in the matter.

The mathematician looked mildly concerned when he noticed the bruise on Newt's neck accompanied by the bloodied collar of his shirt, but rolled his eyes as though he were terribly inconvenienced by the entire ordeal anyway, slipping his shoes on before stepping into the hallway. “Do I even want to know what happened?” he asked and Newt picked up on the barely-there worry that Hermann tried so hard to hide.

“So remember when you were all ' _you like Hannibal Chau_ ' and I was like ' _no way, dude_ _that's weird_ '?” Newt asked as they made their way down the hall to the elevator, his voice still a bit nasally from the bloody nose. “Well I think there's a teeny tiny chance you might have been right.”

“It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to figure it out, Newton.”

“Hey, I'm basically the same coolness level as a rocket scientist, dude, and I only figured it out like an hour ago.”

“You still haven't told me what happened to you.” Hermann pressed, and Newt let out a heavy sigh as he started from the beginning.

By the time he was finished, they were seated at a table in the mess hall with two bowls of macaroni and cheese between them. “So it's all really weird.” Newt finished lamely, fidgeting with the cup of coffee he'd scrounged up from the kitchens. The caffeine would probably be a regrettable choice later but it helped him reassemble the night's events into something that made sense inside his head and he knew that if he fell asleep so soon he'd only end up dreaming about Hannibal Chau and death and fake kaiju pieces.

“Congratulations on not dying, once again.” Hermann quipped with a sip of his tea, staring over the rim of the mug. The words sounded almost harsh but Newt knew that it was only because Hermann was worried, and not without good reason. “You are aware I could have seen this coming?”

“This isn't a very good ' _I told you so moment_ ,' dude. I like a gangster. This is like, apocalypse number two.”

“You're exaggerating, Newton. I think it's pretty obvious at this point that he's not out to kill you so, worst case scenario, he doesn't want anything to do with you. Which would probably be better for you, in the end because, as you witnessed tonight, associating with gangsters is likely to get you _killed_.”

“Or horribly injured.”

“To be honest however, it would probably work between you two.”

“Shut up, you're supposed to be using a whole bunch of logic on me and talking me out of it, not encouraging it.”

“I never encouraged anything, I merely point out facts.”

Newt made a face because Hermann's facts were close enough to encouragement because he wasn't saying something like ' _hey Newt don't do the thing because the thing is probably stupid_ '. Given, Newt would probably do the thing anyway but it was at least nice to get the entire situation off his chest. Talking to Hermann didn't necessarily _fix_ anything, but the situation was sort of unfixable in the first place. He could only hope that avoidance—which, of course, had been the initial plan until Herc Hansen screwed it up—would at least work this time.

“Normally,” Hermann started again once the macaroni and cheese had been eaten, holding his cup of tea in front of his face with a critical look to the biologist sitting across from him, “I'd tell you to be careful because Pentecost said not to trust Chau. However, if you'll remember, I've already been over that.”

“Yeah, except—”

“ _And_ , Chau is—frighteningly—your type.” Hermann finished off his tea, rolling his eyes at the look Newt gave him before shuffling to his feet. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed.”

Newt gave a half-wave as he listened to Hermann's footsteps echo off the walls of the empty mess hall, downing the last of his coffee before grabbing himself another cup to go. All traces of his previous exhaustion were absent from his system and he knew he would crash later but he couldn't find it in himself to care about that. Instead, he was choosing to keep his mind busy by doing science and filling out overdue paperwork that he'd been avoiding for ages.

He figured he could do a pretty good job of distracting himself from his emotions until avoiding Hannibal Chau became impossible, and even then, he didn't _really_ have a reason to go back and see Chau so he could probably avoid his problems for quite a while.

He could also find someone else to buy weed from.

They probably wouldn't be so scarily charming, but sacrifices had to be made.

* * *

The first thing Newt noticed upon waking was the fact that he was in his room. He assumed that he'd have crashed on the couch in the lab but this was at least _slightly_ more comfortable, despite the fact that he was still in his clothes, partially covered in blood and in _definit_ _e_ need of a shower. He attempted to maneuver himself out of bed but just ended up on the floor, feeling too much like a zombie to actually do anything that involved opening his eyes as he dragged his blankets down with him. It was probably a result of the panic-stress-induced all nighter, followed by sleeping too much to compensate, but Newt had to wonder if the zombie apocalypse hadn't started while he was unconscious and that it was already beginning to spread.

Which wasn't very plausible but Newt's mind could barely function beyond the heavy layer of haze that surrounded it so, _hey_ , it was a possibility.

With an exaggerated stretch Newt managed to get to his feet, several joints popping as he let out a yawn and swayed slightly before putting a hand on his desk to steady himself. A glance down at his clock showed that it was nearly three in the afternoon and he let out a quiet groan as he realized that he didn't even have anything that he really needed to feel bad about sleeping through. His sudden surge of productivity had definitely set him further ahead than he'd been in a while, and the thought was both frightening and freeing as he began tearing off pieces of clothing on the way to his cramped bathroom.

One of the downsides to living in what was essentially a military base was that water had to be shared and Newt knew that if he didn't get out of the shower at around the fifteen minute mark, the water would go abruptly cold and there was nothing worse than a sudden bone-chilling stream of freezing water hitting bare skin. He pushed it right up until he felt the first gradual temperature shift, reluctant to step out of the beautifully hot water but faced with no other option, shivering when his feet bare feet touched the cold tile. Showers in the Shatterdome may have sucked, but since he couldn't really remember a time _before_ crappy showers, it didn't seem quite so horrible.

Even though it _did_ still suck.

Toweling off his hair, Newt rummaged around in his drawers to find the last clean pair of boxers he had (which meant he'd have to do laundry, _ugh_ ) and didn't get much further than that when there was a knock at his door. He briefly considered putting on a more substantial amount of clothing before answering it, but it was probably the marshal or Hermann or something, and shimmying into a pair of skinny jeans would simply take too much time.

He regretted his lack of clothes, however, when he opened the door only to be faced with Hannibal Chau.

Newt's heart plunged into his stomach because _what the actual fuck_ , was the universe plotting against him or something, and stared up at the older man with every possible word that he could say stuck in his throat. It was some cruel joke, it had to be.

Or maybe he'd finally lost it and become a mad scientist who hallucinates about attractive crime lords.

Either way, it left a battle of emotions waging in his head and a horde of butterflies in his stomach as he tried to grasp why the fuck Hannibal was _there_.

“I had a meeting with Hansen, legal stuff. Thought I'd come by and see if you were still alive.”

Newt cleared his throat, knowing that if he didn't save face, what little reputation he had would be ruined. “Uh, yeah, still alive. It takes more than that to kill me.” He gave a weak thumbs up with what he hoped _wasn't_ a look of absolute terror but Hannibal smiled briefly, the dark lenses making Newt feel a million times more exposed than he was, and he was already plenty exposed thank you very much.

“I brought you something. An apology, of sorts.” Chau pulled a baggie out of his pocket and Newt glanced nervously around the hallway, making a split second decision to pull Hannibal into the room, closing the door behind him. No sense getting caught in a situation where he was mostly naked with Hannibal Chau, being offered weed.

“It's a, uh, busy hallway.” He explained quickly, suddenly realizing that his actions only made everything worse as he stared up at the man he'd been planning on avoiding. Now, he was mostly naked and the two of them were alone together, which was basically the start to every porno ever and Newt took a step backwards as he tried to stop that train of thought. “The, um, the bong is over there if you wanted to stay and smoke?” He asked, the question coming as a surprise even as the words left his mouth.

Nothing ever really went as planned when Hannibal Chau was around.

“I mean if, if you had nothing else going on. Or whatever.”

“You sure I ain't interrupting anything?” Chau asked, raising an eyebrow at Newt's smaller frame.

The biologist felt a chill run up his spine and took another step back, eyes landing on a pair of pants that was draped over his chair. “I woke up like, half an hour ago.” He explained lamely. “Just got out of the shower.”

“How's your throat?” Hannibal questioned in return, turning away from Newt to sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bong from the corner where it was stashed.

Newt took the opportunity to snatch up the pair of pants, nearly toppling over in his haste to pull them on. “It hurts a little but it's nothing serious. I doubt it's even going to leave a scar.” He took a moment to stare over to his bed, unable to help the weird feeling that rose into his chest at the sight. It was so _weird_. Clearing his throat, he grabbed the closest blood-free shirt he could reach, pulling it over his head with a deep breath. “Do I even want to ask what happened to the kaiju dealer guy?”

“He'll be fine so long as I never see his face again. The knee will probably heal if he gets it taken care of and life with nine fingers won't be that difficult.”  
Newt swallowed hard, not entirely sure if Hannibal was serious or not. “Oh. Well let's hope for his sake that he learned his lesson.” He glanced briefly around the room, hoping to see his glasses anywhere but only realizing that Chau could see almost every incriminating item he owned.

And there was also no sign of his glasses, which was a bummer because it meant that they were either in the lab or lost forever.

But that was a problem to solve later.

Newt moved a pile of papers from his chair to the desk—on top of another pile of papers that he'd get around to dealing with eventually—and took a seat, watching as Hannibal packed a bowl.

Maybe it was a sign. Or something. Maybe _Operation: Avoidance_ would have to be scrapped forever because of its overall ineffectiveness, especially since the universe thought it would be oh-so convenient to drop the gangster at Newt's doorstep. Literally.

“You're a Tarantino fan?” Chau asked, motioning with a nod to the Death Proof poster on the wall before bringing the bong to his lips, lighting the bowl and taking a hit.

“Um, _duh_.” Newt said in response. “He's basically the greatest director in the history of ever. Right above Guy Ritchie and Martin McDonagh. The guy's a legend.”

Hannibal tilted his head back and exhaled, a cloud of white smoke lazily drifting upwards as he held the bong out to Newt. “So you're a genius with good taste in movies. A dangerous combination.”

Newt accepted the bong carefully, balancing it on his knee so that he could light the bowl. It took three tries for the flint to light and he briefly filed away for later that he'd have to find the multitude of lighters that were already lost among the mess of his room, feeling the smoke slowly fill his lungs. It was a struggle to empty the bong's chamber, tendrils of smoke escaping from Newt's mouth as he looked up. “That almost sounded like a compliment.” he muttered, letting the rest of the smoke out of his lungs with a slight cough.

“That's probably because it was.” Chau said with a short bark of laughter, glancing down at his expensive-looking watch before standing up. “Anyway, work waits for no one. I've got a meeting in twenty minutes so I'd best take my leave.

“Time is money.” Newt agreed, setting the bong on the floor and getting to his feet as well, if only not to feel _quite_ so short in comparison to Hannibal.

“Stay out of trouble, Geiszler.”

“I make no promises.” Newt quipped in return, because even if he did make that promise, he could almost bet that trouble would find _him_. It always did.

“You should come over sometime. I'm sure you'll love my movie collection, and I can almost guarantee that no one will try to slice your throat open this time.”

Newt smiled almost involuntarily, nodding as he showed Hannibal out. “I can't say no to movies, dude.”

Hannibal flashed a smile before stepping out and Newt closed the door behind him, deciding that the benefits of hanging out with the gangster far outweighed the benefits of avoiding him. Newt flopped onto his bed, taking a moment to appreciate the way Chau's scent still lingered before grabbing the bong from the floor. “I'm _so_ fucked.” he half-whispered, heart pounding in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just get the feeling that Newt would be a huge Tarantino fan, and by extension would like movies such as "Snatch" and "Seven Psychopaths", hence the mention of both Guy Ritchie and Martin McDonagh. 
> 
> Friendly reminder that you can find me on tumblr as the-kaiju-blues (or whichever url is on my page because I change it sometimes, oops)


	6. Not Just a Stereotypical Hollywood Murderer Scumbag Type Psychopath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is haunted by images from the Drift and acts on some impulsive decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm super sorry for the delay but college is ridiculous and I've worked on bits and pieces of this when I've had opportunities.
> 
> Secondly, the title is based off of a quote in one of the movies mentioned in this chapter, Seven Psychopaths, which is literally one of my favorite movies of all time.

It was two in the morning when Newt woke up with a yell lodged in the back of his throat, images of the kaiju and the Precursors hitting him like a wave as he tried desperately to fight off the nightmare and come back to reality. Sitting up, he tried to shake off the feeling of being not quite himself—not quite human—as he reminded himself that the apocalypse had come and gone and that he didn't have to worry about some otherworldly being tracking him through the vestiges of a hive mind.

The nightmares, like the nosebleeds, were a side effect of the inevitable brain damage left from the Drift. Newt had mostly accepted it because it _had_ been his idea in the first place but that didn't mean they weren't still _terrifying_ , and he sometimes wondered if he would ever really be free of them.

He fumbled around until he found his phone, flinching as the too-bright screen came to life and nearly blinded him. He made a face at seeing the time because _he'd actually gone to bed at a decent hour, goddammit_ , and he certainly wouldn't be able to get back to bed any time soon. He felt almost breathless, a wisp of terror still clinging to his blood as he opened up the phone's contact menu and scrolled through absent-mindedly, pausing at Hermann's name and then changing his mind. Instead, he tapped the name just above Hermann's and sighed new message opened.

“ _You awake?_ ” he texted, kicking off his blanket before thinking better of it, deciding that he was much safer with the blanket than without. His phone vibrated only a few moments later, which came as sort of a surprise because Newt hadn't actually expected a response at all.

“ _That depends on why you're asking._ ”

“ _Nevermind. It wasn't important._ ” Newt typed out, staring at the screen for a few long seconds before sending the text. It was two in the morning—nobody should have been awake and he definitely wouldn't have texted Chau in the first place if he knew he was going to get an almost immediate response.

“ _Don't waste my time, kid. Is something up?_ ”

Newt stared at the screen until it went dark, tapping it with a sigh and bringing up the keyboard. “ _Are you busy?_ _Now, I mean? Because I understand if you have some dealings of questionable legality to attend to or whatever._ ” He let his fingers glide across the on-screen keyboard, hitting send without even checking that autocorrect hadn't made nonsense of the entire thing. He couldn't stop to think about it. He wasn't awake enough to make sound decisions, and if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't really want to be alone.

“ _Ain't busy_ _, what's up Geiszler?_ ” Hannibal responded almost unnervingly fast and Newt tapped his fingers against the back of his phone as he contemplated his next words.

“ _Is that promise of a movie night redeemable any time?_ ”

“ _Sure._ _W_ _ant me to send a car?_ ” 

* * *

 

 Newt wasn't exactly sure how to feel, at least partly convinced that he was still dreaming, staring at the doors of the elevator that he didn't quite remember from the last time he'd visited Hannibal Chau's apartment. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment, exhaustion creeping into his veins where adrenaline had been previously as he listened to the dull hum of machinery. It seemed like a stupidly long time before the doors finally slid open with a _ding_ at the top floor and Newt opened his eyes, taking a deep breath before stepping out.

He knocked quietly on the apartment door and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he waited, rocking back on his heels. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his Godzilla pajama pants before he'd left and he he was realizing that it probably wasn't a very impressive look for what Newt had unofficially labeled a 'movie date'. He felt briefly self-conscious before he remembered that a) Hannibal had seen much worse from him and b) it wasn't in any way, shape, or form a date so it didn't really matter how he looked anyway.

Hannibal didn't look angry as the door swung open, so Newt counted that as a bonus. “Your driver kind of ditched me in the lobby.” he said after a short silence, shrugging in an attempt to look at all nonchalant. “Um, so. Hey.”

Chau opened the door wider, shooting Newt a skeptical look as the shorter man stepped inside. “So, you gonna tell me what's up?”

“What? No, there's nothing up, why would something be up?” Newt asked quickly, nearly running into a vase and scrambling to right it before it fell to the floor. “There's nothing up.”

“I ain't a moron, Geiszler. It's nearly three in the morning and you look like shit. I can tell when things are up, kiddo.”

“I, um. I just couldn't sleep, is all.” Newt explained lamely. Chau didn't look convinced but he didn't press for more information, for which Newt felt a certain amount of gratitude because he didn't really want to fess up to nightmares to a crime lord. Hannibal turned to walk down the hallway and Newt followed, fidgeting with the fabric inside of his pockets. “So what's _your_ excuse for being up so late?”

“I had a meeting.”

“At two in the morning?” Newt asked skeptically, eyebrow raised.

“These clients were from out-of-country.” Hannibal stated as though it should have been obvious, and who knew, maybe all mobsters worked with foreign clients who didn't give a shit about time zones but Newt wasn't really convinced. “Business never sleeps, kid.”

“Okay but—whoa.” Newt trailed off as Chau opened a door that led into his bedroom—which he was choosing to acknowledge at a later moment—staring incredulously at the shelves lining the walls that were home to hundreds of DVDs. He hadn't seen so many movies in one place for _ages,_ and on the middle of the wall facing the bed was a flat screen that was practically as big as the wall itself. It was _impressive_. Newt could definitely date a person based solely on their movie collection, but Hannibal Chau was becoming more and more intimidatingly awesome the more they saw each other. The kind of intimidatingly awesome that made the scientist want to run for his life while simultaneously resisting the urge to make out with the guy.

“Choose whichever movies you want, I'm going to make tea.” Hannibal said and Newt nodded, biting his lip as he took a step forward.

He'd never asked to hang out with someone at three in the morning before, but the fact the he actually had someone other than Hermann to hang out with for the first time in years was almost...daunting. It was like he had a fraction of a social life for once.

And a crime lord was making him tea.

Newt eyed some of the titles on the shelves, disappointed in the apparent lack of system because it should have _at least_ been organized by director. He was quick to forgive, however, when he found _Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels_ , followed by _Coffee and Cigarettes_ and _The Big Lebowski_. By the time Hannibal came back ten minutes later, Newt had a pile of at least fifteen DVDs piled on the foot of the bed.

“I don't think we're gonna get to all those tonight, kiddo.” Chau said as he held a mug out to Newt, setting his own on one of the nightstands.

“Well, I mean duh. But if I didn't set them aside I'd never be able to find them again because none of your movies are organized into categories.”

“Hey, I have a system.” Hannibal defended, plucking a DVD out of Newt's hands and inserting it into the player.

“Yeah but your system sucks, dude.” Newt muttered under his breath, only half-serious because people have a right to organize their shit however they wanted.

Even though some might disagree with said organizational systems.

He sat on the edge of the bed, realizing slowly that he was _actually_ in Hannibal Chau's bedroom, feeling like it was all some sort of dream because everything was moving too goddamned slow. He kicked off his shoes to be polite and crossed his legs, taking a sip of tea as Chau tossed him the remote.

“Don't judge a man's system, Geiszler. I could still kick you out.”

“Yeah but you won't. You already went to the trouble of making me tea.” Newt smiled somewhat smugly as he skipped through the previews, leaning against the intricate wooden headboard as the movie started.

A nervous energy was still running through his veins but he felt better—if only slightly—because their banter was _familiar_. It was strangely comfortable and it grounded him.

And he was realizing that he was basically 700% fucked because he really liked Hannibal.

_Really_ really.

And he honestly had no clue what to do about it.

Because the guy was turning out to be ridiculously awesome, but he was also _intimidating_ , and Newt was still partly scared of him because _who wouldn't be_?

And yet.

Hannibal had allowed Newt to come over at an ungodly hour of the morning and hadn't demanded an excuse. The biologist was pretty confidant in the fact that he wasn't going to get killed, but he'd never been good at communicating his feelings and he wasn't sure that he could act like a regular human being around the guy.

* * *

 

They were half way through _Seven Psychopaths_ when Newt spoke again. “It was, uh, nightmares. Or well, memories I guess. From Drifting with kaiju on two separate occasions.” He cleared his throat, still looking at the screen though focusing on Chau through his periphery. “But I don't think that kaiju minds are really compatible with the minds of humans at all so um, I don't know. It's my own fault, really. So, uh. Thanks. For letting me come over and making me tea and stuff.” He trailed off, feeling as though he was talking too much. He finished off the last few sips of his tea which had practically gone cold, setting the mug on the nightstand next to him.

“What you did may have been pretty fuckin' stupid,” Hannibal began, punching Newt lightly in the arm with a look that was actually kind of comforting despite being mostly-hidden by those glasses, “but the apocalypse was upon us and you did what you had to do, and you ended up saving the entire goddamned world, Newton. So it's not a problem. Besides, you have good taste in movies and I like that in a person.”

Newt tried to suppress a smile but he couldn't and as much as he attempted to focus on the movie and the misadventures of the three protagonists, his mind kept wandering to the man next to him and the fact that he'd totally admitted to at least liking Newt a little bit.

* * *

 

Newt woke up to his phone vibrating in his pocket, groaning as he slowly realized that he wasn't dreaming and that he needed to answer it. He managed to get his phone out before it could go to voicemail, putting it to his ear without opening his eyes. “Hello?” he rasped, clearing his throat as he stretched.

“Newton, where are you?”

Newt opened his eyes at Hermann's voice, realizing that—holy shit—he was in Hannibal Chau's bed, though the gangster himself was absent. “I, uh. I'm at Chau's place.” he said, fumbling for his glasses.

“And you're okay?”

“Yeah, Hermann, I'm fine. Don't be so suspicious.” Newt chided because he was an adult, after all. He didn't need people keeping tabs on him all the time.

“You could leave a note every once in a while.” Hermann admonished in return, and though he had a point, Newt simply let out a sigh.

“Or you could just trust that I'm not out getting myself killed.”

“I find that extremely hard to do with the company you choose to keep, Dr. Geiszler, and while I don't care who you date, I'd at least like a little warning before you disappear without a trace.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, look dude, _first_ of all you said yourself that you didn't think he was going to kill me. Secondly, he and I aren't even—” Newt lowered his voice, realizing that he wasn't necessarily being quiet, “—the whole crush thing is just one-sided. It's nothing. I honestly don't even know if I can categorize us as friends yet, so don't just go making assumptions like that because, as my _best_ friend, you'd probably be the first to know if I _did_ get involved with someone. _Especially_ if I got involved with a kaiju-selling crime lord.”

“My point here is that it would be courteous of you to just let me know when you're going somewhere. I don't even care about details, but I—” Hermann paused, as though what he was going to say next physically pained him, “I worry about you, Newton.”

“Awww, I knew you cared, Hermie.” Newt said, shoving himself into a sitting position and popping his back. “I promise to shoot you a text next time I leave to hang out with a gangster at two in the morning, okay?”

“Good. I'll see you later?”

“Yeah, I'll probably head back later this morning. What time is it? I just woke up.”

“It's already 12:45. Do I even want to know how late you stayed up?”

“Probably not. I'll talk to you later, man.”

Newt ended the call and yawned, running a hand through his hair as he tried to evaluate the current situation. He definitely hadn't meant to fall asleep in Hannibal's bed and totally would have been fine with the couch. Though, he wouldn't have minded sharing, either. The bed was practically its own country, and he was admittedly jealous.

He shoved his phone back into the pocket of his pajama pants, untangling himself from the ridiculously soft blankets and getting to his feet. He smelled food which probably meant that Hannibal knew he was awake (and hopefully hadn't heard any part of Newt's conversation) and he dragged himself to the kitchen where Chau was indeed making pancakes.

Pancakes.

Glorious, glorious pancakes that weren't from a freezer.

He had to stop himself from proposing to Hannibal right then and there, leaning with his back against the counter a couple feet away as he let himself pretend for a moment that this was a normal morning. “You know, I would have taken the couch.” he said finally after a few seconds of watching Hannibal cook.

“You fell asleep sometime during _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ and I didn't want to wake you up just to kick you out of my bed.”

“Man, I've never actually seen that entire movie. The only part I clearly remember is Flea licking LSD off of Johnny Depp's sleeve in a bathroom, and I'm pretty sure I've attempted to watch it like, five different times.” Newt shook his head in mild disappointment, promising himself that _one day_ he would watch the movie in its entirety. “Hey, is there anything I can do to help? Set dishes out or something?”

“The plates are in that cabinet over there and silverware is in the drawer under the microwave.” Hannibal said as he flipped a pancake. “And there's coffee if you want some.”

“You, sir, are a saint.” Newt said emphatically as he grabbed two plates from the cupboard Chau had motioned to. “Coffee: my number one weakness after kaiju and maybe probably kittens.”

“Good to know.” Hannibal responded, chuckling slightly as he poured the last of the batter into the pan.

 

Half an hour later, they were back on Hannibal's bed because Newt was set on watching the Evil Dead remake to 'see if it was as epic as the original'. Of course, if he was being totally honest with himself, he was also using it as an excuse not to leave, but he _had_ wanted to see the movie when it had first come out. K-Day had just made it a bit difficult. And seeing it with Hannibal, in the guy's bedroom was...well, he thought of it as an added bonus.

“Jesus, not even ten minutes in and this movie's intense.” he muttered, accepting the pipe that Hannibal was holding out to him.

“The camera work is good, though—very reminiscent of the original.”

Newt exhaled a cloud of smoke, coughing as he shook his head. “I remember reading somewhere that they used like, 70,000 gallons of fake blood in this movie. Where do you even get 70,000 gallons of fake blood, that's just ridiculous.” he said.

“You kill 70,000 fake people, obviously.” Chau responded, joking (or at least, hopefully joking) and Newt was about to respond when the title flashed on screen with screeching violins in the background, making him jump.

“If you're already jumping at the title, the rest of the movie might be too scary for you.”

“I'll be fine so long as I have a big tough guy like yourself here to protect me.” Newt said in a moment of boldness, not entirely sure if what he was doing constituted as flirting or not. He hadn't had much practice in well...as many years as he'd been with the PPDC. He briefly reminded himself to be careful because he didn't even know if Chau was into dudes—or anyone, for that matter—but he figured testing the waters couldn't hurt too much.

He watched as Hannibal hit the pipe, pulling at the fabric of his sleeve as an upside-down panorama of trees panned across the screen, finally focusing on a car driving down a forest road. “Just tell me when you get too scared and you can hold my hand.” Hannibal said with a puff of smoke in the biologist's direction, and Newt narrowed his eyes slightly because a) that wasn't the answer he was expecting and b) was Chau even serious? Was this actual legitimate flirting or simply wishful thinking on Newt's part? He was leaning towards wishful thinking, never one to get his hopes up (though he did, all the time anyway, against his better judgment) when Hannibal passed the pipe back, his hand lingering for what seemed to be a few seconds longer than strictly necessary.

Newt was confused.

Honestly, just completely baffled and half-certain that he was imagining things. He took his hit, grateful for an excuse not to respond immediately so he could come up with something to say that wasn't embarrassingly lame, but Hannibal took the opportunity to speak.

“So how's that scientist friend of yours?”

“What, Hermann?” Newt gave himself a moment to catch up to the subject change, exhaling through his nose with a small shrug. “Yeah, he's good. I mean, it's kind of slow at the Shatterdome these days so he and I are practically always fighting off constant boredom but we haven't killed each other yet. So that's probably good.”

“I seem to remember you calling him a dick at one point.”

Newt vaguely recalled the drunken night that had started all of this, back when Hermann broke up with him, and he couldn't figure out what Hannibal was getting at. “Come on, you can't hold that against me. I was drunk and sad and I call people dicks all the time. But, you know, he isn't and I think I'm pretty happy with the way things turned out.” Because if he'd never gotten lost and found his way to that seedy bar, he never would have run into Chau and would probably still think the guy was kaiju food. Which probably would have saved him a lot of trouble, but as it was he'd fallen pretty hard. “I like him more as a friend than a boyfriend, anyway. I think we would have ended up killing each other, had we stayed together.” Newt shrugged, hoping that he really got his point across.

The point being, ' _I'm single as fuck please don't be afraid to make a move on me_ '.

“I've...moved on. To bigger and better things.” He added as an afterthought. Not that Chau was any better than Hermann because Hermann was fucking awesome, but the crime lord certainly was bigger. And who knows, possibly even better in bed.

(Not that Newt would have any basis for comparison because he'd never even gotten very far with the mathematician.)

“Is that Geiszler-speak for ' _I got myself a ripped boyfriend_?”

Newt couldn't quite identify Hannibal's tone, he wasn't an expert at conversation after all, but he hesitated before responding. “Not yet. _Yet_ being the keyword here. And I mean, I'm not even sure if this person is particularly ripped, but he's hot and I guess I'll figure the rest out if and when I eventually get him naked.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry for so many movie references. I like movies. 
> 
> Fun fact: My friends and I once snuck into Evil Dead, stoned as heck, after a day at a comic expo where one of my friends cosplayed Ash (from the original franchise). 
> 
> And the 70,000 gallons of fake blood thing is true. Which isn't hard to believe, if you've seen the film.
> 
> Also, most of the movies mentioned in this chapter are really good and I would highly recommend them. Except Fear and Loathing because, like Newt, I don't remember much more than the scene with Flea. (But I'm sure it's good.)
> 
> I only have about a week and a half of classes left before I get a month off, so I should be able to update this in a more timely manner next time


	7. God Ain't Close in a Place Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt probably reveals his romantically-inclined feelings to Hannibal Chau, though no one can really know for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo this chapter has a fair amount of violence and references to mild use of painkillers.

There were a few long seconds where Newt had no idea what was going on.

And then the pain hit him all at once.

The shot rang out in his ears as he felt himself all forward, clutching his stomach with both hands as he tried to decipher the blurs of color around him. Reality was moving too quickly and in slow motion all at once and he heard shouting from somewhere, his mind grappling for something to hang on to as he realized— _holy shit, I've been shot_.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Hannibal was looming above him, shouting orders to two of his men.

“Where are your glasses?” Newt asked, surprising himself as the words left his mouth. He hadn't actually meant to say anything at all but it was shocking to see Hannibal's eyes, even if he couldn't really understand _why_ the guy was there.

No, that wasn't exactly right. If he thought really hard, he could remember that he just left Hannibal's apartment, so it would make sense that the guy would be there.

He just...couldn't really think past the confusion that surrounded his brain.

“Geiszler, hey, stay with me.”

“Where else would I go?” Newt questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. He certainly wasn't planning on going anywhere.

It seemed like a logical question but Chau only gave him a look, holding something against Newt's stomach to stop the bleeding.

“I need to get your shirt off to see the damage.” Hannibal demanded, though there was something strange in his voice that Newt couldn't put his finger on.

“If you wanted to get my clothes off, all you had to do was ask.” Newt said with a weak laugh.

He closed his eyes again, and when he next opened them he was in a moving vehicle with his head in Hannibal's lap. There was a pressure around his stomach and he glanced down to see his shirt bundled up against the wound, held there by at least half of a roll of duct tape. “Dude, what is this, _From Dusk Till Dawn_? I think you went a little overboard on the duct tape here.”

“This is me trying to save your ass.” Hannibal muttered in response, and Newt was pretty certain that they'd given him some sort of painkillers because everything was fuzzy around the edges but the pain in his stomach felt distant.

“I think someone shot me.”

“No shit,” Hannibal said with a slight chuckle, strained as it may have been, “the guy who shot you has already been dealt with. We're gonna get you to the hospital and you're gonna be fine, kid.”

“Right. Cool.” Newt said with a nod, knowing better than to question what the “ _dealt with_ ” part of the statement entailed. “That's...good.”

“How are you feeling, Newt?”

“I think that, given the circumstances, I'm okay. Did you, uh. Painkillers? I mean, I'm hoping that it's painkillers and not nerve damage.”

“I gave you a low dose of morphine, yeah.” Hannibal said and Newt reached up until he had Chau's hand in his own, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“Hermann. Did, um...he should know. Where I am, that is. I said I'd be back.” Newt thought he felt a hand in his hair, but he couldn't be sure.

“I'll call him when we get to the hospital.”

Newt tried to nod, but he was already slipping into unconsciousness again and he let out a breath, hoping that the 'I love you' that crossed his mind didn't actually leave his lips.

* * *

 

When Newt woke up, it was to the blinding whiteness of a hospital room with a doctor who looked vaguely like Steve Buscemi standing over him. “Oh, good, you're awake Mr. Geiszler.” Newt would probably be a bit freaked out by the situation if he didn't spot Hermann and Hannibal arguing in the hallway because hospitals are _always_ creepy, and the Buscemi-doctor didn't make anything better. “Can you move your toes for me?”

Newt moved his toes with a slight nod. “Yeah. Toe movement is a go.”

“Good, that means there was no nerve damage from the wound. Overall, you look good. The bullet missed anything important and you should be able to check out of here once some of the paperwork is processed.”

“Cool beans. So, um, can you send my friends in then?”

“Certainly.” The doctor picked up the clipboard from the foot of the bed and made his way into the hallway where he stopped to say something to Hermann and Chau before continuing down the hallway. Which was good because he was the type of doctor that made Newt's skin crawl—probably from too many nights playing Silent Hill as a teen.

“Newton, are you alright?” Hermann asked before he'd even taken a step into the room and Newt offered his best reassuring smile.

“The doctor seems to think so. I'm feeling pretty good, but that could also be whatever painkillers they have me on. Dude, you didn't have to come all the way down here just for me.” Hermann gave him a look, glancing over to Chau disapprovingly and Newt knew that they'd be having words later. The mathematician really needed something to do other than worry about him, because he'd been the one to encourage the crime-lord-crush in the first place. “Don't give me that look, man. It takes more than bullets to kill me. Hell, I've survived kaiju and gunshot wounds and Mako's cooking; I'm beginning to think I'm immortal.”

“Let's not test that theory any more than we have to.” Hermann admonished and Newt offered him another smile.

“Hey, do you think you can track down something for me to drink?” Hermann sighed but turned to head into the hallway anyway and Newt hoped that he'd bought himself a few minutes alone with Hannibal. He really did appreciate the fact that Hermann was there at all, but having both the mathematician and Hannibal in a room together was just a recipe for disaster. “He thinks you're dangerous.”

“Technically, I am.” Hannibal responded, dragging a chair to the side of the bed. “His worries aren't unfounded.”

“Yeah, but I don't care.” Newt said defensively, not even sure why he was being so defensive. “We're already friends. It's too late to back out now, you're stuck with me.”

There was a pause, and Newt briefly noted that Chau's glasses had returned to his face, making it impossible to tell where he was looking. “Tell me, Geiszler, do remember anything from the ride over here?”

Newt made a face as he thought back, trying to recall details through the haze that surrounded his brain. “I remember duct tape. Oh God, I said something stupid, didn't I? Shit, I told you about the time I was duct taped to a tree for three hours, didn't I?”

“Well, not until now.” Hannibal said with a smirk. “But I sense a story there.”

“Long story short, in high school there was this dick named Jeremy Gilroy and I maybe accidentally egged his car thinking it was my dick math teacher's. He and his friends duct taped me to a tree and three hours later the janitor found me and cut me down.” Newt rubbed a hand across his face, smiling in spite of himself. “But if that's not what I revealed in the car, I don't even want to think about what I actually said.”

“Okay, then I won't tell you.” Hannibal said with a nonchalant shrug and Newt immediately felt the morbid curiosity gnawing at the back of his mind.

Of course, Hermann chose this moment to walk back into the room, holding a bottle of water out for Newt, effectively changing the subject. “So did the doctor tell you when you can get out of here?”

“Uh, when some paperwork processes I guess?” Newt opened the bottle and took a few long drinks, wishing he could just outright tell Hermann to calm down and stop antagonizing Hannibal.

It was just as he was about to remove the bottle from his lips that he remembered the thought he had just before passing out in the car, nearly choking as he swallowed the wrong way at the realization that he might have revealed his romantically inclined feelings to Hannibal Chau.

It was just like the time in Breaking Bad when Walter was drugged up and revealed his second cell phone—it was a disaster and he hoped for his own sake that he was wrong.

* * *

 

Hermann started the second they stepped into the lab.

“Newton, you could have been killed today! How many times do you have to have a near death experience before you understand that Hannibal Chau is a dangerous man?”

“God, Hermann, I understand that he's dangerous.” Newt bit back, tossing his pharmacy bag onto one of the desks. He was tired, and even though he knew the conversation was coming, it was the last thing he wanted to be doing. “But it's too late for you to tell me to stay away from him, Mr. 'Oh maybe he likes you what's the worst that could happen'. I realize that you're worried about my well-being, Herm, and I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do to stop me from hanging out with Hannibal. I like him. And I might have told him I loved him? I'm not sure, but I'm in a little too deep now. And he's like, the only person who actually watches movies with me and doesn't fall asleep. Like some people.”

Hermann let out a sigh, running a hand across his face. “Look, I just want you to be safe. You have no idea how it feels to have someone call you to tell you that your best friend has been shot.”

Newt moved to put a hand on Hermann's shoulder, trying to think of anything to say that would make the mathematician feel a bit better about the situation. “And I sincerely hope that I never have to find out how it feels. But the fact remains that I'm an adult and I'm allowed to do dangerous things, and even though you may not like it, I'm allowed to be friends with gangsters. The world is a dangerous place, but we're the two scientists responsible for saving it from _aliens_ from the _bottom of the ocean_ and I think we'll be okay.” Newt shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets, careful not to jostle his stitches. “And I mean, I guess if it makes you feel better I can ask Hannibal to have an extra security detail the next time we hang out. _If_ we hang out again. I'm still not sure if I confessed my feelings to him, and I'm not sure how weirded out he is if that turns out to be the case, but whatever.”

“I don't think you'll have a problem.” Hermann muttered under his breath, continuing before Newt could question the statement. “Just...promise me you'll be more careful from now on.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first half of this while binge watching Breaking Bad and the second half while I was mostly drunk oops.  
> The part in From Dusk Till Dawn I'm referencing is that part where Tarantino gets shot in the hand and wraps it with duct tape, which is coincidentally the only part of the movie I've ever seen because I'm lame.  
> Also, this chapter is kind of short but I'll make up for it in the next one, I PROMISE.  
> Also also, I'm sorry if there are any medical inaccuracies in this because I'm just an undeclared college student who's afraid to look up any shifty things on the internet ever since my computer randomly crashed when I searched if it was possible to order hallucinogenic drugs online.  
> For fic research, obvs.


	8. A Thrill to Press My Cheek To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt receives a gift, Hermann has something to confess, and a dinner date is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow first update of 2014.
> 
> I apologize for the ridiculous delay on this, I was dealing with finals and other college bullshit. 
> 
> I this chapter mostly written before I decided that I hated it and scrapped the entire thing, and then I had computer issues resulting in having to use The Shittiest Laptop Ever, but I'm happy to finally be able to post this.
> 
> Mentions of painkillers throughout.

The day after Newt got out of the hospital, one of Hannibal's guys showed up at his door. Newt only vaguely recognized him, and no words were exchanged as a package was shoved into the biologist's hands, a simple box with no label or explanation. Hannibal's minion offered a smile before turning and leaving, and Newt watched him for a few moments with a puzzled look before casting his gaze upon the box in his hands. It held no immediate answers, and Newt eventually decided that it would be best to open it in in the safety of his bedroom rather than the hallway, just in case it contained drugs or anything else that could potentially get him in trouble with Hansen.

Not that Hansen would actually care very much given that Newt had been shot. He was pretty sure that gave him a sort of get out of jail free card that was good for at least a couple of weeks.

He moved slowly, careful not to pull at his stitches because despite the painkillers they'd given him, it still hurt like a bitch. He returned to his bed and pulled the blankets over his crossed legs, setting the box in his lap and pulling at the tape that held it closed. It took him a few tries to pull up the edge but when he finally got the box open, he felt a surge of excitement that managed to pierce the morphine haze.

Kaiju action figures.

Beautiful, high-quality kaiju action figures that _actually_ accurately depicted the anatomy of a kaiju. There were three in total—Otachi, Knifehead, and Tresspasser—and Newt couldn't suppress his grin as he pulled Otachi out of the box to find that it had _extendable wings_.

Setting Otachi on the bedspread, he pulled out Trespasser, marveling at the accuracy of the movable jaw. There had been kaiju action figures on the market for years, of course there had, but none of them had ever been more than cheap, mass-produced plastic toys that barely managed to portray the basic aspects of the real things. Manufacturers were more interested in making a product that appealed to children rather than kaiju scientists, and Newt couldn't even blame them for all of the inaccuracy given that they basically just had news clips to go off of.

But these.

Someone had put work into these.

Newt fished a note out from beneath the final action figure, unfolding it to find Hannibal's handwriting scrawled across the page.

' _Hope you're feeling alright Newt, I had a guy I know make these based off of sketches so I hope they're accurate enough for you. At the bottom of the box you'll find something else that might help you during the healing process. I'm going out of the country for a week or so;_ _at least try_ _to stay out of trouble. My phone will be on if you need to reach me._ '

Newt read the note twice before setting it to the side, dumping the remaining contents of the box onto his bed. The weed was predictable enough, but beside the baggie was a tin that held, upon further inspection, tea. Newt held the tin up to his nose and he picked up on something that smelled almost like mint, but he wasn't entirely sure.

This was all very good.

It meant that, if Newt actually _had_ revealed something along the lines of his undying affections for the crime lord, Hannibal wasn't freaked out. Though, Newt was becoming more and more unsure of what—if anything—he'd said to Chau during the trip to the hospital because the entirety of the previous four days seemed distant and dream-like, but it was reassuring to know that nothing had changed.

Newt sniffed the tea one more time before replacing the lid, trying to remember where he'd left his phone among the clutter of his room. He needed to text Hannibal to say thanks, and also to let him know that he was beyond impressed by the craftsmanship of the action figures so that whoever made them didn't have to go through...well, whatever it was that Hannibal did to people who disappointed him.

The last thought made Newt smile, because despite the fact that Hannibal was all sorts of terrifying and probably more than just slightly crazy, he was actually sort of a good guy and it was doubtful that he would make a huge deal about people disappointing him.

Threatening his business? Yes.

Putting his associates in danger? Also yes.

But Newt would wager that 'disappointment' didn't rank very high on 'The List of Things Hannibal Chau Would Kill Someone Over'.

It was actually a surprisingly short list, when Newt stopped to think about it.

Remembering where he'd originally been going with that thought, Newt finally managed to track down his phone underneath his pillow and send a text to Chau that said, ' _I got your package, and I have to say_ _k_ _udos to whoever made the action figures because they KICK SO MUCH ASS and I don't think I can accurately express how much I love them in the form of words so just know that they're the most perfect kaiju action figures I've ever seen and that the person who made them gets a gold star._ _Thank you._ ” Newt didn't even care about the run-on sentence as he shoved his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, swinging his legs off the bed so that he could clear a space on a shelf for his new kaiju friends.

At least these ones wouldn't try to eat him.

(He'd faced actual real life kaiju on two separate occasions and yet the scariest thing in his life was still Hannibal Chau. Priorities.)

* * *

 

“On a scale from one to ten, and you have to be honest right now for the sake of _science_ , how would you rate my blowjob-giving abilities?”

The question came out of nowhere, piercing the near silence that had fallen over the lab as Newt waited for his tea to cool down at one of the desks near the center of the lab. He'd been watching Hermann work for a full five minutes before he chose to speak, silently debating with himself about whether or not the question was entirely appropriate.

He decided that he didn't really care if it was appropriate or not because he really needed to know. For science, like he said.

“Excuse me?” The question had clearly caught Hermann off guard, derailing his train of thought to the extent of causing a mistake in the equation he was working out on the chalkboard. He erased the last few digits with his sleeve, correcting them and continuing where he left off, but Newt could see the tips of his ears going red. A predictable reaction.

“All I need is a number, dude.”

Hermann didn't immediately respond, his chalk still moving swiftly across the board. “While my basis for comparison is limited, I suppose I'd say eight. Eight and a half, perhaps. Though, it would most likely have been a nine had I truly been in love.” There was a pause as he double checked the line he'd just written, muttering numbers to himself as he searched for something to correct. “I don't think I have to remind you to use protection, if you start something with Chau.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks mom.” Newt muttered, rolling his eyes despite the fact that Hermann had his back to him. “It's just been so long since I've had a _serious_ relationship, not that what we had wasn't nice for a while, but I dunno it may just be wishful thinking and too many drugs but I feel like there might be some actual chemistry between him and me.”

“I still don't wholly approve of Hannibal Chau, and I'm sure you're well aware of that fact, but I don't believe it's just wishful thinking. The man sent you a care package, for God's sake Newton, and at the hospital—” Hermann's hand halted mid-air as he seemed to realize what he said, but it was too late because Newt had heard it and he knew it.

“What happened at the hospital? You can't just trail off, man. You're morally obligated to finish that sentence.”

Hermann huffed, and even though Newt could barely see his face, the reluctance was obvious. “I'll only tell you if you promise not to overreact.”

“Why would I overreact?” Newt asked warily, grip tightening on his cup. “ _What happened at the hospital_?”

“Promise me, Newton. I need to hear the words, 'I promise not to overreact' or I'm keeping my mouth shut.”

It was Newt's turn to huff because he couldn't promise not to overreact when he didn't even know what he'd be overreacting about. “Fine, okay. I promise not to overreact, now _tell me_!” Hermann still looked hesitant, and Newt gave him a serious look. “Hermann.”

Hermann set his chalk at the base of the board, wiping his hands as he turned around. He didn't quite meet Newt's eyes and for the first time Newt could remember, he actually looked... _guilty_. “I _may_ have told Chau...” Hermann pressed his lips into a thin line, choosing his words carefully. “By complete accident, you must understand, that you're in love with him.”

Newt felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over him and the cup between held between his hands felt suddenly too hot. “Oh.” The word came out as a squeak, and he was glad that he was already sitting down because he was pretty sure he'd be on the floor otherwise.

“He was in the hallway when I showed up at the hospital, and I was _furious_ with him for letting something like that happen so I let him know my exact feelings on the matter, and to drive my point home I said something along the lines of 'he's in love with you, you dick'. And while I understand that anger does not excuse my actions, perhaps you should consider that next time you decide to get shot.”

Newt chose to ignore Hermann's last quip in favor of the thing he'd said just before that. “You did _not_ call Hannibal Chau a dick.”

There was no way. Newt simply refused to believe it.

He was skeptical, and rightly so because he'd never heard Hermann call _anyone_ a dick, let alone a crime lord. And the thought of Hermann calling Hannibal Chau a dick _to his face_ was just a little bit too far fetched for him.

“I did.” Hermann looked almost proud of the feat, as though he'd done it for the sole purpose of proving something to Newt, who merely shook his head.

“Holy shit. I see that you're still alive, so if he didn't kill you, what did he do?”

“He said, and his exact words were, ' _and what if I feel the same way_?' So. I think you'll find that my mistake did _not_ ruin your life, and I sincerely hope you'll find it in you to forgive me. Even though it serves you right for putting yourself in danger in the first place. But my point is, I can almost guarantee that whatever chemistry you feel is not just wishful thinking. I can think of no other reason for him to say something like that.”

Newt took a long sip of his tea, considering all of the implications of everything Hermann had told him. “Well, I guess I can stop worrying about whether or not I confessed on the ride to the hospital. That's one mystery solved.”

“Sorry.”

“I can't believe you called him a dick. That sounds like something I would do, honestly, I think I've been a bad influence on you.”

“You and every other person in the Shatterdome.”

Newt grinned, because he honestly didn't know where he would be without Hermann.

* * *

 

Newt awoke in a cold sweat, the lasting images of a kaiju hive-mind dancing behind his eyelids as he tried to breathe and remind himself once again that the apocalypse was over. He'd heard about morphine causing vivid dreams, but he supposed it only became worse when the dreams—nightmares, really—were a cocktail of memories and terror that left him nauseated and shaking because of the sheer _realness_ of them. He should have expected side effects like this, he figured, because there was undoubtedly damage left from the Drift that he always seemed to forget about when it wasn't affecting him.

As great as the morphine was for making the pain bearable, he wasn't sure if he could go through a repeat of the ultra-technicolor nightmares.

He could barely handle the regular nightmares and he hoped that having two separate occurrences within a week wasn't indicative of an emerging issue. He wasn't too worried because before a couple days prior, it had been at least two months since he'd had anything but pleasant dreams and morphine was known to give people ridiculously vivid dreams. But still, he was almost afraid to know how much damage he'd actually caused himself by drifting alone that first time.

With another deep breath, he fished around for his phone and blinked past the sudden illumination, sweeping the small source of light around the room to ensure that nothing was lurking in the dark. There wasn't, of course, but he felt better nonetheless. His nightmares always left him with the feeling that he was being watched and it made his skin crawl as he tried to calm the rapid pace of his heart.

There was a text from Hannibal when Newt next looked at his screen, and he felt his heart leap into his throat as he opened it.

' _I'm glad you like them, kiddo, you deserve them after the hell you've been through. The tea is_ _apparently_ _supposed to boost the immune system,_ _but even if it doesn't, it's still pretty decent tea._ '

Newt smiled despite the fact that he could still feel anxiety bubbling in his blood, heart racing for multiple reasons as he thought long and hard before sending, ' _Can I call you?_ ' He needed to hear someone's voice, and even though Hermann was right across the hall he couldn't bring himself to extract himself from the warmth and safety of his bed. And there was at least a chance that Hannibal was already awake, and that made Newt feel a bit better about going to the guy with his nightmares _again_.

His answer came in less than five minutes in the form of an incoming call, Hannibal's name flashing across the screen as the phone vibrated. “Hey.” Newt said as he put the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

“I guess, yeah. The, uh, the morphine is great but no one warned me about how the vivid dreams could be.”

“Your nightmares.” Hannibal's voice was understanding as he spoke the non-question, a comforting rumble in Newt's ear. “I should have thought about that before the doctor coulda prescribed it.”

“It's not like I'm your responsibility. You didn't even really have to be at the hospital in the first place. It's just one of those things that comes hand in hand with being the savior of the world.” Despite the humor he tried to put into his tone, the statement still came off sounding exhausted and broken.

“You guys have a medical wing at the Shatterdome, right? They could probably get you something else if you talked to them.” In the background, Newt could hear the quiet sounds of traffic and he briefly wondered where Chau was as he considered the fact that the suggestion was _really_ good. He probably would have thought about it eventually, but it was good to know that Hannibal's suggestions were actually helpful.

“Yeah, I'll do that.” Newt said, nodding to himself. “That's way better than just forgoing the painkillers entirely, and that's what I was probably gonna do.”

“How have you felt otherwise?”

“Well, I mean, I've not done much other than lay in bed because I know that, with my luck, I'd end up tearing my stitches in some horrible and embarrassing way but I've felt okay.” Newt took a breath, clenching and unclenching the hand not holding his phone as the nightmare-fueled adrenaline slowly left him. “The tea helped, so thank you. You mentioned that you were going out of the country?” Newt desperately wanted to keep the conversation going, feeling significantly better than when it had started. “Where are you?”

“Germany. The business partner I have here prefers face-to-face meetings so I have to fly out every so often just to keep him happy.”

“Oh man, I'm pretty jealous. I haven't been to Germany in ages.”

“So you've been to Germany before?”

“Oh, just for the entirety of my childhood. I moved to America when I was around thirteen and the accent gradually disappeared, but I'm still fluent in German.”

“That's impressive, maybe I'll bring you with me next time as an unofficial translator. My business partner is the one who provides the translator, and even though I trust him not to cross me, it would be nice to have someone on my side who could understand what was being said.”

“That would be the least I could do after everything you've already done for me.” Newt said with a false nonchalance because the thought of going to foreign lands with Hannibal Chau made his heart race all over again and he certainly didn't want to sound too eager. “Hey, look, can I talk to you about something?” he asked after only a moment of deliberation, speaking mostly on impulse.

“Shoot.”

“I was talking to Hermann today and he, uh...mentioned something that he may or may not have said to you. At the hospital. Pertaining to feelings that I have for you?” Newt stumbled through the words, realizing how unprepared he actually was to have this conversation. He did not think this through.

Oh well, it was already too late to back out.

“So question here is, um. Do you want to get dinner with me at some point in the future?” There had been a point in time where Newt had been really good at asking people out, but it was clear to him as the question left his mouth that his skills were a bit rusty. But at least there had been no bad pick up lines.

Yet.

“And here I thought I would be the one asking you to dinner. You beat me to it, kid.”

“So that's a...yes?” Newt wanted to be absolutely sure because there was a part of him that was still skeptical about the entire situation.

Hannibal chuckled and Newt could hear what sounded like a door opening and closing, the sounds of traffic fading away. “Yes, Newt. I would love to have dinner with you.”

Newt's heart skipped a beat or two before he found his voice. “Okay, cool. I, um. Yeah. Cool.” He sounded ridiculous, he knew, but the haze of painkillers and the fact that is was something like two in the morning made forming sentences difficult—and the fact that he'd just successfully asked Hannibal out didn't help matters any. “Oh god, I'm sorry, I _do_ have the ability to be eloquent, I promise. I mean, at the very least, I'm usually better at hiding how flustered you make me.”

“I'm not complaining.” Hannibal responded, and there was something in his voice that made Newt a little breathless.

“I have to ask though, did Hermann _actually_ call you a dick?” He figured he may as well bring it up while the question was still relevant.

“Yes, but I won't hold the comment against him. He was looking out for you, and since it looked like he regretted his entire statement the moment he said it I can't be too angry.”

“I still can't believe it. Congratulations, I'm almost certain that you're the only person he has ever called a dick. And that's coming from the person who left kaiju entrails on his side of the lab— _intentionally_ —on more than one occasion.”

“I'm honored, truly.” Hannibal said with a laugh, making Newt's stomach flip flop because _holy shit he had just asked this man out_.

“God, this was not what I had planned for this conversation. Believe me, if it had been planned, I would have been so much smoother. There probably would have been shitty pick up lines and everything.”

“Well I'm sorry I missed the shitty pick up lines, but it's late kiddo. You can't be expected to be at the top of your game.”

“Were you really going to ask me to dinner?”

“I was going to wait until you were feeling a bit better, but I've been considering for a month, at least.”

Newt swallowed. “What was stopping you?”

“The fact that you had just been dumped when we ran into each other at that bar. You were sad and drunk, Geiszler. I didn't want you to think I was pressuring you into anything by giving you gifts, and I didn't necessarily want to be a rebound, either. I figured it would be best to wait and see where things went.” Hannibal cleared his throat. “In any case, you beat me to it. Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep tonight?”

Newt had to think about it for a moment, because _no_ , after this conversation he was pretty sure sleep wouldn't come easily but he had thinking to do. And stuff. So he figured it would be best to let Hannibal get his sleep, just in case he had to kick some ass in the morning. “Yeah, I should be fine. You're probably tired after your trip and everything too, I'm sorry for keeping you up.” For good measure, he yawned and smiled when he heard Chau's laugh.

“I was up anyway, no need to be sorry, kid. But you need your rest if you're gonna be up to a dinner date when I get back to Hong Kong.”

“Yeah.” Newt said, smiling to himself because a dinner date was actually a thing that was going to happen. “So, um, goodnight I guess.”

“G'night Newt.” Hannibal responded with a smile in his voice. “Get your painkillers switched.”

“I will. Good luck with your business deal or whatever.”

Newt heard a click and then silence, realizing how hard his heart was actually pounding as he practically jumped out of bed. He needed to talk to Hermann, he decided, and he didn't even care that it was well past two—Hermann owed him one.

However, when he yanked open his door to head across the hall, Hermann was already there, fist raised as though he'd just been about to knock on the door. “Dude, what are you doing here?”

“I had a feeling you needed to talk.” Hermann responded, shoving past the biologist. “Good lord, your room is even messier than the last time I was in here.” he admonished, using his cane to move some crumpled laundry from the chair to the floor.

“You say that every time you see my room.” Newt quipped back, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

“And yet you never do anything about it.”

“I do. Sometimes. You just choose the most inopportune moments to come calling, dude.” It was a cycle—he'd clean and then it would get messy again, and Hermann seemed to only come hang out when it was in its messy state.

“I'll believe it when I see it.” Then, “Nightmares?”

“Yes. And no.” Newt paused, eyes falling onto the bong before shooting a questioning look over at Hermann because it was so much easier to talk to him about relationship things when they were both stoned.

It was also way more fun to smoke with people rather than by himself, and it was polite to at least offer.

“Sure.” Hermann said after a beat and Newt went about packing a bowl. “What do you mean by 'yes and no'?”

Newt didn't look up from what he was doing as he answered, crossing his legs and using a Tom Waits record to break apart the weed. “Okay, so, yes because nightmares basically punched me in the face—oh, and I need you to remind me in the morning to go talk to the Shatterdome medics about switching painkillers—because morphine apparently makes nightmares like, 500% more awful. But anyway, no because I ended up on the phone with Hannibal Chau and—oh, stop giving me that look.”

“If this conversation is going to end in you telling me about phone sex with Hannibal Chau, I'm leaving.”

“Oh, come on, give me some credit dude. That obviously would have been the conversation opener, had it happened.”

“Oh, good.” Hermann muttered sarcastically.

Newt handed the bong to Hermann first, followed quickly by the lighter, before continuing with what he was originally saying. “Hannibal was actually the one to suggest getting the painkillers switched in the first place, which is great because I probably wouldn't have thought about it. But I dunno, somehow I ended up asking him to dinner? It wasn't even _suave_ , and I could definitely have done better but um...he said yes. So there's that.”

Hermann coughed into his sleeve as he handed the bong back, opening his mouth to speak before coughing again. “I told you so.”

“Also, I'm super impressed that you actually called him a dick. I didn't really believe you before but...you've got balls Gottlieb.” Newt ducked down to take a hit before continuing, rather proud of the way he _didn't_ cough.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“He says he doesn't hold the comment against you, by the way. In case you were worried about ever having to face his wrath or something.” Hermann merely scoffed. “But I've never been on an _actual_ dinner date, what's the protocol? Since I asked, do I have a pay? I really, really didn't think it through before bringing it up with him.”

“Relax, Newton. When is said dinner date?”

“I'm not sure yet. He's in Germany, currently, and he won't be back for another week.”

“Then you obviously have time. Plus, if you've already managed to charm him into saying yes to a dinner date, then I don't think there's much you could do to screw it up.”

As much as Newt hated to admit it, Hermann was right. Hannibal had seen him at his worst multiple times, and, statistically, he could only get more charming from there. “You have a point.” He admitted after a moment. “I mean, he _did_ say that he'd been planning on asking me to dinner so I guess I've managed to do something right.”

“You _will_ be careful though? It's clear that you two are both infuriating and quirky enough to be perfect for each other, but that doesn't change the fact that what he does isn't exactly _legal_. I don't want to have to bail you out of jail.”

“Being involved with a crime lord doesn't automatically mean that I'm going to be arrested for something, and even if I did, something tells me Hannibal has the influence to get me out of jail. But, if it will make you feel better, I will endeavor to stay out of trouble, as much as is possible for me.”

Hermann didn't necessarily look convinced, but that was probably only because trouble had a way of finding its way to Newt, regardless of whether or not he went looking for it.

“So hey, do you wanna go see if we can find something to eat in the mess?”

“Certainly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you've all had a fantastic 2014 so far! 
> 
> I have like, three different Newtibal fics that I'm gonna do once this one is finished (which will hopefully be soon) and since I'm taking the semester off from school I'm hoping I'll have way more time for writing. 
> 
> Admittedly, I'll probably spend a lot of my time playing Pokemon and having misadventures. But let's hope for lots of writing, too.
> 
> (Seriously though. I've had so many au ideas within the past week alone, including a Pirates of Penzance au, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this inspiration continues.)


	9. there's something 'bout the way your lips invite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt goes on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. This is really, inexcusably late but alas, I have excuses!!!
> 
> First, I bought a new computer because my old one bit the dust. And instead of using it to write (like I should have) I bought Fallout: New Vegas. Now, I dunno if any of you have played FNV but it's pretty darn addicting and I spent wAY more time than I should have playing vidya games. (110 hours, to be exact.) THEN I went on a week-long road trip to Reno for a fur con (my friends are furries. it was certainly an experience.) and when I got back, I was basically knocked on my ass because of Con Crud/my immune system getting really peeved at a week spent partying. And then I went to see Captain America: Winter Soldier and it ruined my life.
> 
> BUT I'm expecting there to only be one or two more chapters of this and I'm sincerely hoping I'll get them out in a timely manner this time. (Seriously though, I'm so sorry for how long this took me.)

Newt noticed the guy leaning against the wall, magazine in one hand and an otherwise bored expression, the moment he stepped into Chau's apartment building. It took Newt a few seconds to recognize him as one of Chau's guys (increased security—and he hadn't even had to ask) and he flashed him a nervous smile before stepping into the elevator, heart pounding against his chest and serving as a constant reminder that he was _actually_ seeing Hannibal Chau for the first time since they'd talked about _relationship things_.

He pressed the button for Chau's floor, wiping his sweaty palms against the front of his jeans before shoving them roughly into his pockets as he leaned against the wall and attempted to calm his breathing.

There was no reason for him to be so nervous.

He'd faced down kaiju and hooked his brain up to spare parts— _and_ he'd already gone through the complicated bits of getting to know Hannibal Chau. It was absolutely _ridiculous_ to be so nervous.

But rationalizing didn't help any, just sent another bout of butterflies through his stomach as the elevator lurched into motion.

It seemed like only a matter of seconds before the metallic doors slid open—too soon for Newt's taste because once he stepped out of the elevator, he only had a short walk and a knock on a door before he was face to face with Hannibal and he'd hoped to get a chance to compose himself before the actual date commenced.

He wasn't as prepared as he'd originally thought.

And it was pretty pathetic, given that he'd had an entire week to mentally prepare himself.

Whatever. Dating wasn't very high up on the list of things he was good at. Identifying specific kaiju based off of small anatomical details? Sure thing. Annoying the crap out of Hermann on a near-daily basis? He was practically a master.

But there hadn't been very much time for dating since the kaiju made land (not that Newt was complaining, there had been plenty of science to keep him occupied) and even before K-Day he'd never really had the chance to master the art of dating.

Which, okay, on its own wouldn't make him that nervous. He may not have been good at dating, but he was, in fact, pretty decent at winging it. The problem was that Hannibal Chau seemed to be the type of guy who would be really, _really_ good at dating, what with his fancy suits and the confidence that came with ruling the Chinese black market. Following that logic, he could probably have anyone he wanted, and Newt guessed that there were more than a few attractive people within his reach. The thought was daunting.

The scientist took a breath as he finally came to Hannibal's door, removing a hand from his pocket only long enough to knock on the door, leaning back on his heels in order to maximize his nonchalance.

And he was looking pretty darn nonchalant right up until Hannibal answered the door, hair visibly wet from a shower and glasses forgotten.

The charming greeting that Newt had been formulating for at _least_ three days died on his tongue, the words—along with every other word he'd ever learned—vanishing from his head at the sight of Hannibal Chau with quite possibly the fewest layers Newt had ever seen him in. Well, save for the morning he'd woken up in Chau's kitchen, but that entire morning was a blur and things between them had changed since then.

A fresh wave of butterflies blossomed in his stomach as he tried to at least say _something_ , anything that would save face he was in the process of losing. “Way to throw a guy off his game by being too hot to handle.” he managed finally with a weak chuckle, more flustered than he would have expected.

“Well hello to you too, kid.” Hannibal replied with a laugh, moving to the side and ushering Newt into the apartment.

“I had something way wittier than that planned but I, uh...can't remember it. Sorry.” Newt said with a look that hopefully let Hannibal know that, really, it was all _his_ fault. Newt hadn't been expecting the guy to look so...exposed.

Vulnerable.

It made Newt feel a little breathless. “So how was your trip? Did all of your business stuff go well?”

“Business went smoothly and Germany is wonderful this time of year. Here, I got you something.” Hannibal made his way toward one of the shelves in the living room, pulling out a neatly wrapped box and handing it to Newt. “I've heard some pretty good things about German chocolate, and I thought it was sorta fitting.”

Newt honestly did try to suppress his grin, but he found that he couldn't as he stared down at the box in his hands. Hannibal Chau had bought him _chocolate_ to give to him on their first date. “Do you know how long it's been since I've had _actually_ decent chocolate?” Newt asked, moving without thinking and wrapping his arms around Chau's waist. It took him a few seconds to realize what he'd done, his actions lagging behind his brain, and when it finally sunk in he merely took a deep breath and tried to play it off like it had totally, definitely been intentional. “So. Um, dinner?” Newt cleared his throat as he took a step back, mourning the closeness as soon as it was gone. “I'm not entirely sure where the good restaurants are, but I figured you'd be able to point me in the right direction.”

“I was thinking we could stay in, actually, since you're still recovering. You shouldn't over-exert yourself.”

Newt was pretty sure that going out to a restaurant wouldn't set back the healing process too drastically, but Hannibal's concern was touching nonetheless. “What did you have in mind? Because I was kinda looking forward to paying for a date.”

“You can get the next one.” Hannibal said, ruffling Newt's hair as he motioned for the scientist to follow him into the kitchen.

The next one.

Hannibal was definitely implying that there would be at least one more date in the future, and Newt was _definitely_ on board with that plan.

 

* * *

 

“So, what? You go to culinary school before deciding that crime lord stuff was more your thing?” Newt asked when they'd finished eating, taking a seat on the couch after setting his drink on the coffee table.

“I had an uncle who taught me a few things.” Hannibal said simply, sitting a couple feet away. “Unfortunately, a man in my line of work doesn't often get the opportunity to cook for others.”

“Psh, come on dude. I'm sure there are plenty of times where it would be totally appropriate to get on someone's good side by cooking them food. Or like, if they're the ones who got on _your_ bad side, all you gotta do is poison them. Easy.” Newt paused, turning so that he was facing Hannibal with one elbow on the head of the couch, watching the older man pack a bowl. “And I mean, people respect a guy who can cook. It'd probably be a good business move.”

“Not all things have to be about business.” Hannibal replied with a chuckle. “And you seem to be under the impression that I poison a lot of people, but I think I've poisoned a total of _two_ guys in my entire life. But at least you're finally over thinkin' I'm gonna poison _you_.”

“It was a legitimate concern.” Newt replied defensively, talking with his hands. “My deepest apologies for being cautious.”

“Cautious my _ass_.” Chau remarked with a boom of laughter, handing Newt the intricate glass pipe and a red lighter. “I found you in the shittiest part of town accepting drugs from strangers, Geiszler. Seems pretty reckless to me.”

Newt took his hit before replying, lungs burning as he exhaled toward the ceiling, grey tendrils spiraling upward until they disappeared completely. “Fair point.” He conceded. “ _However,_ I wasn't of sound mind on that particular night so I think it's unfair to hold it against me. I was being extra cautious afterward. Y'know, to make up for it.”

“Whatever you say, Newt.”

Hannibal accepted the pipe as Newt handed it back, smiling as he lit the bowl, holding Newt's gaze until the scientist's eyes flickered nervously away.

Newt could feel his heart hammering against his chest, breath coming quicker, the THC kicking in and reminding him harshly of his general anxiety about the situation. Suddenly, he felt immensely unworthy as he looked around the apartment—only a fraction of the empire Chau had built for himself—because he was _just_ a biologist, _just_ damaged goods and this was Hannibal Chau; a man who could have _anyone_ and anything he wanted and Newt just felt so...undeserving.

It took him a moment to snap out of it, whipping his head up as he realized that Hannibal had spoken.

“You alright there, kid?”

“I'm...” Newt cleared his throat at the sudden hoarseness. “I'm just...I dunno. I don't get it.”

“Don't get what?” Hannibal asked, reaching for the glass of water Newt had set on the coffee table, watching as Newt took a couple careful sips.

“This? I feel like, like I'm out of my league. You have all this charm and charisma and _money_ , and I guess I just don't see what I have to contribute to a relationship when you could have literally _anyone_ else, and—”

“Hey, stop that.” Hannibal interrupts gently. Newt snaps his mouth shut but doesn't look up from the glass of water in his hands. “Yeah, I got money. But there's a difference between buying someone's affections and bein' in a relationship, and someone who'd just see me for my money isn't someone I'd want around. And you? You saved the goddamn world, kiddo. You're a genius. Not to mention the fact that you're fuckin' gorgeous. Overall, I'd say you'd contribute a lot more than me.”

Newt didn't immediately know what to say, working his lower lip between his teeth with a nervous look up. “Plus I get nightmares. I drink too much caffeine and have a permanently fucked up sleep schedule, and I get really one-track minded about things sometimes. Lots of different things. Science, movies, whatever. I get headaches a lot, too, and they make me irritable and I'll probably yell at you for stupid things.”

“Oh, is that what we're doin'?” Hannibal asked, smiling at Newt as though all the things he'd just listed were inconsequential. “I _am_ a criminal, y'know. There's blood on my hands that ain't gonna just wash away. I deal with some real low lives and leave the country for business a lot more than I'd like. Point is, neither of us are perfect.”

“Okay. I guess you're right.” Newt agreed finally, a small smile finding its way to his lips. He _had_ saved the world. That was a thing he did. “Um. Can I, uh. Kiss you?” The question came out a lot more awkwardly than he'd planned in his head and he wanted to take it back the moment the words left his mouth, hoping he'd be able to at least save some face by the time the night was over.

“Well then, get over here.”

Newt moved forward so quickly his brain didn't even have a chance to process it, kneeling adjacent to Hannibal's legs and taking a breath before leaning forward and pressing his lips firmly to Chau's. Neither men moved for a few short moments but then Hannibal's hand was on Newt's neck, pulling him closer as they breathed each other in.

Newt, feeling bolder than he had all night, swung a leg over Hannibal's lap and situated himself there, careful not to jostle his still-healing stomach as he wrapped his arms around the older man's neck. He felt Hannibal's hands move to his hips, their kiss turning into something fiercer, and Newt realized with a groan of frustration that he was _not_ going to be able to last like this for very long. He pulled back then, breath ghosting across Hannibal's lips. “Not that this isn't fun, because it _so_ is, but since I'm assuming it's not going to go any further until I've healed completely I think I'm gonna need to take a break.”

And maybe a cold shower later.

Hannibal laughed, brushing a thumb against Newt's cheek before ducking forward and stealing one more kiss. “You'd better heal up quick, kiddo. I definitely ain't done with you yet.”

And if that didn't sound like a promise for the future, Newt didn't know what did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently, I have two other Newtibal stories in the works (plus like, several Marvel fics and a couple Newmann fics) but I'm really trying to focus on this one before I get too ahead of myself. Thank you all for sticking around as long as you have!! I'm sorry I update so irregularly. 
> 
> On the bright side, the wacky adventures I always end up having are great for fanfic inspiration. So there's that.
> 
> I hope all of you have a FANTASTIC night c:


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt is cleared for strenuous activity.

Newt stared at Hermann over the rim of his coffee cup, idly tapping the sides with an off-beat rhythm as he watched his lab partner flip through folders in one of the filing cabinets at the side of the room. Hermann muttered something to himself, shutting a file with a flick of his wrist and sliding it right back into place, ignoring Newt's presence just as he'd been doing for twenty minutes already.

“So, uh. Medical cleared me for strenuous activity.” Newt offered finally. He tried to make the comment sound casual but it didn't quite make it there, sounding far more suggestive than not. Which, in his defense, was understandable given his newly achieved relationship status.

“Oh, good.” Hermann said, apparently too distracted to hear the innuendo as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He took a few seconds the scan over the first page in one of the envelopes before speaking again. “Now you can finally help rearrange the lab into something less chaotic. Do you think you're finished getting needlessly injured?” He glanced up at Newt over his glasses before shutting the filing cabinet with a snap. “Oh, and don't think I missed what you were implying about _strenuous activity_. I think it would be more appropriate, however, to inform your boyfriend rather than me. And please, spare me any and all details.” Despite his dry tone, Hermann was obviously amused, the corners of his lips upturned slightly. Newt took a few moments to really relish the moment before he returned the familiar frown to the mathematician's face.

“ _Oh_ , the sex I will have, Hermann.” He exclaimed with more dramatic flair than necessary, getting to his feet and throwing his arms out to the sides. “The details of which will be _completely_ rad and you're gonna miss out.” He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets with a resigned shrug. “But that's your loss. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get restaurant recommendations from people so I can take my criminally attractive mob boss boyfriend out on a date.”

Hermann—predictably—rolled his eyes and, yep, there was that classic frown as he waved Newt out of the lab, muttering under his breath about mouthy biologists.

And Newt felt pretty dang good.

Better than he had been feeling, anyway.

There was something about living life free of pain meds that he'd never really been able to appreciate before, and he wasn't too keen to repeat the experience any time soon. He preferred his stomach sans bullet wounds, thank you very much.

Tendo was on lunch break, shoveling food into his mouth while simultaneously paging through a beat-up old novel, when Newt wandered into the mess hall with a spring in his step.

“Can't talk long, Newt. Herc's taking a well-needed and well-earned vacation and so I've been picking up the slack. You know, I never really realized how much I really hated meetings before now.” Tendo shot Newt a pained look before dog earing the page he was on and switching his expression to a friendly smile. “But what can I do for you, brother?”

“You seem like a guy who's in the know, Tendo my man, and I'll try not to waste your time here. What would your restaurant recommendations be? For like, a date. With a person you far more wealthy than yourself who you still wanted to impress, at least a little bit.”

 

* * *

 

 Tendo ended up knowing the perfect restaurant.

Newt held the scrap of paper with the restaurant's name and phone number between his fingers, already mapping the date out in his head as he worked up the nerve to call Hannibal. It still felt strange calling the guy _whenever_ because he didn't want to interrupt important Crime Lord Business or whatever, but it wasn't like controlling a good chunk of the black market came with reliable work hours so Newt just hoped he'd catch the guy at a convenient time.

He dialed the number, tucking his phone against his shoulder as he ducked down to take a hit from the bong. Hannibal answered after two rings. “Newton.”

Newt coughed as he exhaled, fidgeting with the lighter to give him something to do with his hands as he spoke. “Hey. So when are you free. Like, evening-wise?”

“Can't do Thursday, but otherwise I got nothing goin' on. What for?”

“Weeeelll,” Newt started, drawing out the word to build up the suspense a little. “I have to make reservations for the _date_ I'm taking you on.”

“Reservations, huh? Sounds fancy.” Hannibal said with a warm chuckle. “Choose whichever day works best for you, kiddo.”

“Are you sure? Because I have _literally_ nothing going on. And I'm not using literally in that very un-literal way people seem to insist on using. My schedule is _that_ clear.” Newt picked at the fabric of his shirt as he spoke. “I was actually hoping you'd make the final decision? I'm indecisive.”

“Alright. How about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday sounds great to me.”

 

They talked for nearly forty five minutes but Newt never quite figured out how to bring up the fact that the doctors had totally cleared him for sex, and so he hung up feeling sort of dissatisfied because that _had_ been one of the main reasons for calling. He frowned as he reached for the bong.

He was _totally_ _fucking_ _excited_ about the news from the doctors, and he wanted to share it with someone who would maybe at least be a bit more excited about it than Hermann had been, and Hannibal was probably the only person who would be at least minimally interested in Newt's sex life.

It was a logical assumption, right?

Exhaling, Newt picked his phone back and hit redial, waiting for barely one ring before Hannibal answered this time. “Newt?”

“I thought you might be interested to know that the doctors cleared me for strenuous activity.” Newt said without skipping a beat, in what he hoped was an appropriately matter-of-fact tone. He didn't want to go overboard with the flirtatiousness or anything. “Just, y'know, for future reference or whatever.”

“That so?”

“Yep. And I really wanted to tell someone other than Hermann because he was just like ' _hey don't get injured again,_ _help me redecorate the lab_ ', but I feel like that should be pretty obvious since getting shot is a _bitch_. And it's not like I just walk around putting myself in danger, y'know?” Newt was well aware of the fact that he was rambling nervously, but Hannibal had that effect on him.

“I don't have anything that needs redecoratin' but I do share Gottlieb's sentiments. I prefer my boyfriends in one piece, bub.”

 

* * *

 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Newt asked as Hannibal unlocked his apartment, hanging the suit coat that didn't quite match his jeans (there had been a mishap in the lab involving his suit pants) on a hook on the wall after the door had clicked shut. “I'll let you choose this time. Though, I must warn you, you'd better choose well because if it's boring I'll probably try to seduce you halfway through. Just a heads up.” He smirked slyly up at Hannibal, winking for good measure, before sliding past him into the kitchen and grabbing two cans of beer from the fridge. “You know, for a rich guy, you sure buy shitty beer.”

Hannibal merely raised an eyebrow as he followed Newt, leaning back against the counter opposite him. “And what kind of beer do rich guys buy, huh?”

“Well, I'm not a rich guy but—”

Hannibal's cell phone went off before Newt could answer, making the older man frown as he held the phone to his ear. “I thought I told you business shit tonight.” Hannibal's frown soon became even deeper and Newt couldn't hear anything being said on the other end of the conversation but it couldn't be good. “Fine. Give me half an hour, alright?” Hannibal ended the call with a frustrated sigh and an apologetic look toward Newt. “Sorry kid, I gotta take care of something.”

“Hey, no, that's cool. I can call a cab.” Newt assured, already moving to put the beer back in the fridge.

Hannibal's face softened and he took a step forward, pulling Newt closer. “This should only take me a couple hours, I just have to meet with a customer that showed up a couple days too early.” He said, running a large hand through Newt's hair. “You could wait here.” It sounded more like a hopeful request than a suggestion and it made Newt's heart race.

“Are you sure? Because I can take a rain check if you want.” Newt bit his lip as Hannibal's fingers snagged his belt loops, voice wavering on the final syllable. “It wouldn't be a problem.”

“No rain check necessary.” Hannibal said in response, pressing a kiss to Newt's mouth and lingering there on his lips for a few seconds before stepping back. “Wait here and watch a movie or somethin'. I wasn't looking forward to meetin' with this guy, anyway, and now he's given me an excuse to cut it short. I won't be long.”

“Well, okay. As long as it's not like, an inconvenience or anything.”

“ _You_ are not the inconvenience here, kid.” Hannibal ran a thumb across Newt's chin as he spoke, pulling his hand away with some amount of reluctance. “But you're damn distracting. Make yourself at home, alright? You know where everything is.”

Newt couldn't help his smile, leaning up one more time to pull Hannibal into a kiss that held unspoken promises for the future. “Okay. Get out of here and do your job. And punch this guy in the stomach for interrupting date night.” He paused, taking a brief moment to wonder whether that was _actually_ a possibility before adding, “Except don't, really. That would probably be really unprofessional and cost ineffective or something.”

Hannibal let out a bark of laughter, ruffling Newt's hair once more before heading out the door. Newt watched him go, almost nervous to be in the man's apartment unsupervised. It felt more intimate than it probably was, having free reign of the apartment for a few hours, though it obviously meant that Hannibal _trusted_ him to some extent. And trust was good. Newt stood in front of the door for a good five minutes before finally making the decision to move, plucking his previously abandoned beer off the counter in the kitchen before meandering down the hallway to find a good movie to watch.

But he quickly realized that he was way too distracted to actually pay attention to the movie, mind wandering and making it impossible to focus on the storyline. It wasn't even that the movie was boring, he just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he was alone in Hannibal's apartment with the possibility of a super sexy night in front of him. And really, who _wouldn't_ be distracted? He fisheda joint out of the bedside table and lit it, getting to his feet to walk off the anxious energy flowing through his veins.

He got as far as the bathroom, at which point he found Hannibal's crazy in-floor jacuzzi tub and spent a long time debating with himself whether or not it would be worth it to use it. Hannibal _had_ said to make himself at home, after all, and Newt hadn't had an opportunity to use anything other than crappy Shatterdome showers for longer than he could recall. And he _did_ save the world.

Yes, he decided. He deserved it.

And it turned out to be the best decision he'd ever made.

His aches and pains disappeared almost immediately, leaving in their wake the feeling of absolute contentment as he lounged back in the blissfully warm water. He blew a lungful of smoke toward the ceiling before grabbing his phone and snapping a quick selfie, sending it to Hannibal before he had the chance to question whether or not their relationship had yet progressed to the point where it was appropriate to send risque photos. Hannibal didn't seem like the type of guy to mind, in any case.

Newt put off leaving the tub until the water began to grow tepid, finally dragging himself out with a huff. He pulled on his boxers but didn't bother with the rest of his clothes—mostly because skinny jeans and damp skin was a combination that took way more effort than he was willing to exert at that moment—but he did grab one of Hannibal's robes before heading into the bedroom to pop Treasure of the Sierra Madre into the DVD player, settling into Hannibal's bed feeling more comfortable than he had in years.

He fell asleep within ten minutes without meaning to, helplessly succumbing to the cozy feeling.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt woke up when he felt the bed shift beside him, groggily reaching for his glasses on the nightstand before realizing that they were still on his face. It took him a moment to remember that he was not, in fact, in his own bed, eyes trailing over to find Hannibal sitting beside him. “Aw shit, I fell asleep.” He muttered, yawning into the too-long sleeve of Hannibal's robe and rolling over on his side so he could watch Hannibal slide into bed beside him. “What time is it?”

“It's late, I'm sorry.” Hannibal apologized, grabbing the remote to silence the repetitive title screen music that Newt had fallen asleep to and simultaneously plunging the room into darkness. “I tried to cut the meeting short, but plans changed.”

“No, hey, that's business. I get it, dude.” Newt shifted closer Hannibal, removing his glasses and reaching behind him to deposit them on the nightstand. “It's just what I get for investing all my affections in a very prominent player of the Chinese black market. Small price to pay, I guess.” Newt smirked, fingers dancing across the scruff at Hannibal's jaw. “Did the transaction turn out okay?”

Hannibal made a face that was hard to decipher in the darkness. “Not as well as I would have liked. Doing business with this guy was a bit of a gamble in the first place, and I warned him what the consequences would be if he tried to short me on the money again.”

“Shit. What were the consequences?”

“You don't need to know, kiddo. But I will tell you that I punched him in the stomach—even told him it was for interruptin' date night.” Hannibal chuckled a little bit, closing the distance between them to seal his lips over Newt's. “But I take it you had a good time anyway?”

“Your jacuzzi rocks, dude.” Newt said, his words accompanied by another yawn.

“I'd better keep an eye on you, or at least avoid opening your texts in the middle of meetings. Keep it up and I'll never get any work done.” Hannibal murmured, clearly amused as he pulled Newt a little bit closer. “You sure are one of a kind, kid. Now go back to sleep.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thinking that there might be just one more chapter after this??   
> Personally I'm gonna be so glad when this is finished because I never made an outline and it all got away from me, and I'm not necessarily satisfied with the direction it took off in.
> 
> I already have another story in the works, though, and I'm hoping that the planning process will be far more organized than this one was. One can hope.
> 
> But thanks for sticking around this long, in any case!


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